


This Is Your Burden

by GoofyGodTier (johnfightmelaurens)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Bullying, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Self-Harm, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnfightmelaurens/pseuds/GoofyGodTier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is John Egbert and you hate going to school. In the past year alone, you’ve needed your glasses repaired four times and replaced twice. Your chest and stomach are covered in bruises that you haven’t told anyone about. Sometimes you limp, other times you can’t breathe. Once or twice you’ve come home with a black eye.</p><p>And you absolutely hate it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your name is John Egbert and school royally sucks.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't had a chance to really proofread this. I was too excited to get it posted. I hope you enjoy it!

Your name is John Egbert and you hate going to school. In the past year alone, you’ve needed your glasses repaired four times and replaced twice. Your chest and stomach are covered in bruises that you haven’t told anyone about. Sometimes you limp, other times you can’t breathe. Once or twice you’ve come home with a black eye.

And you absolutely hate it.

But you’re John Egbert. You don’t tell your father about your weekly beatings. You don’t tell your best bro, Dave, about how your chest aches sometimes. You don’t tell a single one of your teachers about how scared you are.

This is your problem and you don’t want anyone to worry.

You stay quiet. Your tormentors have been nice and have respected your wishes of being beaten below the neck. Every once in a while they forget, but you always forgive them. It was a simple mistake that a simple lie to your dad can fix.

When you come home after a beating, you always go straight to the bathroom, leaving your backpack and shoes by the door. You always shower after a beating. Once in the bathroom, you hurry and strip down to nothing before the water’s even up to temperature.

It’s become a habit to look at the bruises in the mirror before you shower. It’s kind of haunting, really. New bruises mingle with the old ones. Some are dark purple, others are a sickly yellow. It’s this moment when you’re standing in the middle of the bathroom, in front of the mirror, naked, that you let all of your walls come tumbling down. It’s this moment when you allow yourself to feel the pain of your bumps and bruises. This moment where you let the tears welling up in your eyes fall. Nervously, always nervously, you run your shaking hands over your chest, gently pressing the bruises. You try to understand why someone would hurt you. What have you done to deserve this? Why you?

Every time you ask yourself this, you come up with the same answer: they don’t care.

Some days this answer works. Some days it makes you cry harder.

You always run the water too hot after a beating; you’re not sure why. Today is no different. It’s already fogging up the mirror. You slide your glasses off your face and set them on the counter, wiping away stray tears. Sticking your hand into the water, it burns, but you don’t pull your hand away. You just let the hot water run over it as you use your other hand to adjust the temperature. It still burns, just not as much.

Slowly slipping into the shower, you shut your eyes. The water, while burning, feels good on your bruises and aches. You relax and run your head under the water. Soon you’re dumping strawberry scented shampoo on your hair and massaging it into a strawberry scented lather.

Your shower lasts for almost an hour, but it’s still too short when you step out and you want to just get back in and stand there under the water, maybe let a few more tears fall. You sigh softly as you wrap the white fluffy towel around yourself. Your skin is pinker than usual because of the hot water.

You look at yourself in the mirror, except it’s all fogged up, just like your glasses on the counter. You use the towel to wipe them off before putting them on. That’s better. You feel better with the cold metal against your face.

The humid bathroom threatens to fog up your glasses again. Quickly, you scurry to your room and finish drying yourself off. You change into a t-shirt and jeans. Things are starting to go back to normal. You throw the used towel on top of your magic chest, you can hang it up later, and sit at your computer.

Running your left hand through your hair, you log onto pesterchum with your right. Immediately, Dave starts pestering you.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:03--

TG: sup egbert  
TG: you took your sweet time getting online  
EB: sorry! i was in the shower.  
TG: shit dude  
TG: for like an hour  
TG: i think john egberts best bro is no longer me  
TG: but his right hand  
EB: ew! no!  
EB: i was just thinking about stuff.  
TG: what kind of stuff would keep you in the shower for an hour  
EB: i was thinking of pranks!  
EB: don’t act like you don’t take you time in the shower.  
TG: i do it to get back at bro  
TG: i use all the hot water  
TG: that shit pisses bro off  
TG: but still  
TG: youve got to have something heavy on your mind to spend an hour in the shower  
TG: spill dude  
TG: im all ears

You hesitate. Maybe you should tell him? No, you can’t. This is Dave. No matter what he says about being cool and ironic, he does care about you and you know it. Telling him will probably piss him off or make him feel guilty or even make him fly all the way up to Washington to chew you out. But the biggest reason you don’t want to tell him is because he’ll make you tell someone.

EB: it’s nothing! just pranks.  
TG: promise  
TG: pinky promise  
TG: because thats ironic as fuck  
EB: yeah. pinky promise.  
TG: shit  
TG: bros being a whiny bitch  
TG: talk to you later man  
\--turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:15--

You sigh. You hated lying to him, he was your best friend. He may be in Texas and you two may have never met in person, but he was still the only one you were confident telling anything too. But this was different. This burden was too big of a thing to tell him. Sharing it would be selfish. This was your burden; not his, not your dad’s, nobody else’s.

You groan and slump back in your chair. You don’t like going at it alone, but you have to. You don’t like the pain, but you can’t stop it. You don’t like the fear, but you’re powerless. You don’t like any of this.

But what you hate more than all of that combined, is the possibility of someone losing sleep over you. You aren’t special. You are John Egbert and sometimes you feel like you’re less than a person.

You shut your eyes. This isn’t fair. You shouldn’t have to live through these godforsaken beatings and in this godforsaken fear that one day someone will find out what you’ve been hiding. It sucked. All of it. Sometimes you want to scream and shout and break down sobbing, but you’re stronger than that. You’re not going to cry outside of the confines of the bathroom.

To get your mind off your aches and bruises, you get up to pick up after yourself. Might as well do something productive, you figure as you go and grab the towel and head to the bathroom. By now, the mirror is clear and the room is cold. You look at yourself in the mirror and you see someone else entirely staring back. They’re sad, their eyes scream it at you. You smile just to see if you can, but it’s obviously forced. Sighing, you carefully hang up the towel and kick your dirty clothes into a pile. You scoop them up into your arms and take them to the laundry room, dumping them there. Your father isn’t home yet. Maybe he’ll be home in another an hour or two.

You go and grab your backpack from where you tossed it when you got home, heading to the kitchen table where you sit yourself down and start your homework. See? You’re a good son and student. You ignore all the pain you’re in and work through your Algebra 2 homework. Then your Chemistry and English.

This works for a while, distracting yourself with busy work. You barely notice the pain at all. Once your homework is done though, you feel your aches and pains resurfacing. You don’t want to think about that. You need to find something else to do.

And you’re in the kitchen, putting away clean dishes, loading dirty ones into the dishwasher. You start hand washing bowls and pans that can’t get put into the dishwasher. You’re wiping down the counters and the stove, getting dried cake bits off. How did your dad even manage to get some on the fridge? Sheesh…

It’s mindless work that keeps your hands busy and that’s all you really needed at the moment.

There are parents out there who would love to have a son like you. A sophomore in high school doing his homework like he’s supposed to and the dishes because he’s bored? When can he start?

You chuckle softly at the thought. You were pretty much the perfect son. You were a good student who didn’t get in trouble. You cleaned up after yourself. You bathed regularly. You always had a smile on your face. You were polite. You were cheerful. You greeted everyone with a smile. You were a gentleman.

Too bad the guys at school didn’t see that.

You sigh as you finish the dishes. There’s not much you can do now. Gazing around the clean kitchen, a box of Betty Crocker cake mix catches your eye. This must be the cake your dad will be baking when he gets home. For a moment, you feel sorry for yourself. You’re going to have to fight tooth and nail to get away with not eating the damn stuff. An idea hits you, you’ve got time, why not make a cake from scratch?

You scrap this idea. Cakes are your dad’s thing and you are tired of them. Plus, you kind of just want to go and lay on your bed and just think. You find yourself yawning and soon you’re shoving your homework in your backpack.

You take the steps two at a time. You’re trying to hurry up and plop down on your bed. You’re planning on drowning yourself in nothing. No pain, no emotions, nothing. Or at least that’s the plan.

Laying yourself down on your bed, you put your ear-buds in your ears. You hit shuffle on your iPod and smile when soft classical music starts playing. You really enjoy music with no words when you relax. It’s soothing to not have to fret over the lyrics and what’s being said. To just fall into the sounds of violins and pianos and…

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you slept soundly, dreamlessly; which is good because recently you’ve been having nightmares. Nightmares where you’re trapped, surrounded by faceless men who just beat you relentlessly until you’re crying and soon you’re puking blood and it’s just… It’s terrible.

You figure out that you were awoken by the sound of the front door closing. Not being slammed, just being shut with enough force to make it stay.

“How Do I Live Without You” has started playing on your iPod. You’re not sure which of the many versions this one is, but do you really care? Nope. It’s still the same song. You sing it softly under your breath as you sit up, grabbing the iPod and slipping it into your pocket. You go over to your computer, checking pester chum. It looks like Dave’s back on.

—turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 17:04—  
TG: alright  
TG: dave fucking strider is back  
TG: fucking hell john  
TG: john  
TG: john  
TG: john  
TG: john  
TG: john  
TG: john  
TG: you are a dick  
—turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 17:20—  
—turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 18:24—  
TG: john  
TG: john  
TG: john  
TG: john  
TG: john  
TG: you better be awake  
TG: john we need to talk  
TG: now  
TG: wait capslock makes it more intimidating  
TG: NOW  
EB: calm down!  
EB: i’m here.  
EB: i just did my homework and took a nap.  
EB: what’s up?  
TG: bros fucking nuts ok  
TG: wait you took a nap  
TG: what the fuck dude  
TG: anyway more important things  
TG: bro wants to go to some smuppet con in seattle  
TG: and he wont let me stay home  
TG: do you see where this is going  
TG: a smuppet convention  
TG: bro will be in his element  
TG: smuppets  
TG: fucking  
TG: everywhere  
TG: bro  
EB: oh my gosh! that sounds terrible!  
TG: this is where you come in  
TG: youve got the potential to be superman  
TG: can i crash at your place while bros at his sick con  
TG: sick as in puking  
TG: smuppets are gross  
EB: yeah, of course!  
EB: but if you’re here on any weekdays, i’ve got school.  
TG: no problem  
TG: its a week long con  
TG: maybe ill follow you around school  
TG: or just hit on all the hot girls  
TG: either way itll be pretty sweet to see you  
TG: i may even hug you  
TG: unironically  
EB: woah, a hug from dave strider?  
EB: that day will go down in history.  
TG: hell yeah it will  
TG: theyll have to declare it a national holiday  
TG: son why arent you going to school today  
TG: dad dont you know that dave strider the eternal badass hugged someone on this day in the past  
EB: hehe.  
EB: when will you be coming?  
TG: this weekend  
TG: that cool  
EB: should be, i’ll ask my dad at dinner.  
EB: oh, speak of the devil, he’s calling me down for dinner.  
EB: talk to you later!  
—ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 18:44—

You’re grinning. You’ve forgotten about all your beatings and now all you can think of is that your best friend was going to be coming for a whole week!

You go downstairs and find your dad setting the table. You help and get two glasses of water, setting them down next to the two clean, white plates already there.

“You seem excited,” your father notices. “Care to share?”

You watch him serve you then himself dinner. Peas, chicken, and mashed potatoes. You chew a mouthful of peas thoughtfully, trying to figure out exactly how to word what you want to say. What if he shoots you down? What if you’ll never get to ever see Dave in person? You feel your heart twinge in sadness at that thought.

“Well, you know my friend Dave, online?” You pause and wait for his nod that tells you to keep going. “Well, I guess his bro’s got somewhere to go up in Seattle, but Dave doesn’t want to go with him and well… Could he stay here for the week? He‘d be coming up this weekend…”

“A week? Hm…” your dad says softly as he cuts his chicken into bite sized pieces. You’re so anxious, waiting for his answer. You’re impatient. You want to the answer now! Right now! You end up fidgeting and picking at your food. Why can’t he just hurry up and decide?

After what feels like ages, he says, “Okay.”

You’re ecstatic and when you tell Dave it’s a go, he’s just as excited even though he’s too cool to show it. You end up talking to him on webcam that night, both of you too excited to sleep. Your father peers into the room and you introduce him to the image of Dave on your computer. He manages to get Dave’s bro’s number and soon you overhear him talking on the phone in the other room. Both you and Dave are giddy with excitement. You can tell because a smile is playing at his lips.

And when Dave is walking towards you, ironic as fuck Dora suitcase being dragged along behind him, you’re speechless. It’s really him. Dave. Holy fucking shit.

Nothing matters except that your best friend is walking towards you and you have a black eye. Hopefully he’ll believe you when you say, “Oh, this thing? Got hit in the face with a baseball. No big deal.” Hopefully he’ll believe you, because that’s not the truth. Not even close to the truth.

Before either of you have a chance to say a word, you’re hugging him; like really hugging him. Your arms are wrapped around him tightly and it’s only him coughing and clearing his throat that makes you realize, maybe he can’t breath.

You let him go and take a step back, grinning so wide your face starts to hurt, but you really don’t give a damn. He chuckles slightly and fixes his shades, the same shades that you gave him for his thirteenth birthday.

But soon you can see the edges of his mouth are turning down. He’s seen your black eye and now he’s worried. You beat he’s already figured out what it’s from, but you’re still going to lie. You’re still going to tell him that it was a baseball, not those guys at school. Hopefully he’ll believe you…

“Damn, Egbert. What’s this?” You can tell he’s trying not to cuss in front of your dad.

“I got hit in the face with a baseball the other day. No big deal!”

The look he gives you says he’s not buying it. It’s not much different than his poker-face, a slightly cocked eyebrow right above his shades speaks volumes.

You give him a look that says ‘later’ and he seems to let it go.

“Alright, let’s blow this popsicle stand,” he mutters.


	2. Your name is John Egbert and you can make a mean BLT.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's in town and before the week even begins, trouble's getting stirred up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got this finished! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this done, but I did! And it's shorter than I wanted, but oh well. I'm going to try to update this on a weekly basis, just fyi.

Dave did a good job of not swearing in front of your dad. It was a lot of fun just sitting beside him in the car. He let you ramble on and on while he sat and pretended he didn’t car, but you knew he was listening. You knew he was just enjoying your voice. Or that’s what you thought he was doing. When he talked, you were silent; memorizing the patterns of his voice. Imagining how it’d sound if he said something else. You would catch it when his Texas accent that he tried so hard to mask would come out. You never pointed it out, but you did giggle.

“Hey, Egbert,” he snaps at you as you’re pulling his Dora the Explorer suitcase out of the trunk and into the cool Friday night air. “Pass it here.”

You shake your head. “No, no! I got it. You’re the guest!” And you flash him a smile.

He's quiet for a moment, trying to figure out the wittiest way to respond probably. "I was just being polite. But if you're so eager to grab my shit, go right ahead." He shrugs and goes inside with you on his heels.

You lead him upstairs to your bedroom after passing him in the hallway and set his suitcase by the foot of your bed.

“Where am I going to be sleeping, Egderp? Or did you not think that far ahead?”

Your eyes widen. No you hadn’t thought about that. Oh, god damn it.

He can tell he’s right and allows a small smirk grace his face.

“S’all cool, man. We can share your bed, right? Or is that too homo for you?”

You stare at him for a moment, thinking it through. That… Could work. Nothing wrong with that, right? Just two guys sharing a bed (clothed, you add mentally). Nothing wrong with that.

“Yeah. Okay,” you manage.

He chuckles dryly and gestures to your eye. “You’re sportin’ a shiner there, and I doubt it’s from a baseball.”

You try not to get to defensive and you just use your old excuse.

“It was a baseball,” you say innocently with a shrug. You just want him to forget about it… For him to let you suffer through all of this by yourself. You’re not going to be selfish and get him feeling sorry for you, because, even if Strider’s don’t have emotions like that, Dave does. You know he does. Last year, you got thrown into the hospital when the jerks cornered you near the top of the stairs after you’d stayed late at school. You fell down the stairs and ended up pestering Dave from the hospital, telling him that you’d slipped. After the obligatory, I warned you about the stairs bro comment, he was asking you how you felt, if anything hurt even though he couldn’t do anything. He cared about you.

“John.”

This time you fail and get defensive. Very defensive. You tense up, your voice becomes harsher, and your eyes narrow just a little.

“It was a baseball,” you deadpan.

You can tell he still doesn’t believe you, but he’s taken the hint that you don’t want to talk about it.

He plops down on your bed and puts his hands behind his head. He’s staring up at the ceiling, quietly. Did you upset him? Was he mad? Sometimes you cursed his poker face and that you didn’t know every thing about him.

“It’s ten o’clock,” you say quietly. “Are you hungry? Do you want to go to bed?”

Dave remains quiet, observing the ceiling still. After a while, he speaks.

“I could go for some late night snacking. What you got?”

“There’s stuff for sandwiches. We’ve got chips, pretzels, popcorn, and cookies. What do you want?”

He sits up and runs a hand through his hair. “I could go for a mean BLT right now.”

You nod and soon you’re cooking up some bacon for his sandwich. Just trying to keep your hands busy. Today’s beating had been pretty bad. They’d beat you until you were sobbing, begging them to stop. You’d actually been bleeding in a couple of places too. They’d left you sobbing in the school’s stairwell and you were a little late getting home. You hadn’t had time to shower and to let your emotions run their course. You hadn’t had a chance to breakdown yet.

But you weren’t about to let yourself let out any emotion that may tarnish your relationship with Dave. Especially with him right there in the middle of your kitchen as he patiently waits for his BLT, watching every move you made. If you let any emotion out, he’d see it and be on you in a heartbeat.

Soon you’re putting his sandwich together, using fresh everything for it. If it was ever said that John Egbert didn’t take care of his guests, they’d be wrong.

He takes the finished sandwich from you with a mumble of a “thank you” and settles into the chair to eat it.

As he eats, you wash the pan you used to make the bacon in the sink. You run the water too hot, but you don’t care. In fact, you wish you could shower and feel the ache and burning in your hands all over your body. You want to burn away all your troubles, but soon, maybe a little too soon, you’re done and drying the kitchen ware.

You don’t know when he got behind you, but Dave’s arms were wrapped around your middle. Probably an ironic joke…

“Hey, Egbert. Time for bed,” he says, breath hot on your ear. You get goose bumps before pulling away from him, flustered.

He chuckles, ironic gimmick successfully pulled off. You glare at him weakly.

He just smirks and makes his way upstairs. You follow closely. He’s just being an ironic goof who’s suffering from jet lag and more likely than not, sleep deprivation.

Once in your room, he pulls of his shirt casually and starts rummaging through his suitcase. You look away, trying not to notice how fit and firm his chest appears to be, and gather your pajamas into your arms.

“I’m going to go get changed and ready for bed in the bathroom.” You hear making a quip about your “new best bro” and you roll your eyes.

You lock the bathroom door and carefully pull the shirt over your head. You take a moment to stare at yourself. New bruises are forming. Larger ones too. There’s some dried blood here and there. There were more of them than usual, just like there were more people than usual beating you up today. A new guy was the one to give you the black eye. Definitely not a baseball.

Tears start falling and you let them. You don’t stop buttoning up your pajama top. Maybe if you let them fall now, they would be gone by the time you went back to your room.

Soon the bruises are all covered up again and you’re wiping your eyes; practicing your smile in the mirror. It eventually looks normal enough and you brush your teeth.

You gather up your dirty clothes and head back to your room. Dave’s lying on your bed, asleep, in just his boxers. He didn’t even crawl under the covers. You try not to notice the little things about his body: the freckles that lightly dust his face and chest, the muscle definition in his arms, how thin his legs are. Snap out of it. You’re not gay and noticing everything about him is not helping your case. You sigh and carefully maneuver him and the covers so he’s settled comfortably under the sheets. Finally taking his shades off his face and setting them comfortably on the night table.

You’re not tired so you turn on your computer and open pesterchum. No one’s online, just you. You get your browser open and simply google “fastest way to get rid of a bruise”. You’ve clicked on and read just about every link that pops up, but you have a tendency to not do anything they suggest to get rid of your bruises. You only ever ice your eye because people see that.

In the morning, you’re lying on the floor. How did you get there? You probably just fell asleep at the computer and then slumped to the floor. No big deal. 

Yeah, that isn’t a big deal. The big deal is that Dave was standing over you with a horrified look on his face and he has a fucking good pokerface. Oh no. Oh holy fucking hell no. He’s seen the bruises. He’s seen them. You groan and curl up into a ball.

“Egbert. You got five seconds to explain those bruises. Five… Four… Three…”

You groan again, just wanting him to leave you alone. You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want him to feel sorry for you or even guilty. He didn’t deserve to have this burden on his shoulder; he really didn’t. But. But what were you supposed to do? 

“Two…”

“I got beat up,” you mumble, not telling the full story and just hoping that that will work for now.

“What?”

“I got beat up. Nothing other than that.”

“Why? How long has this been going on because those bruises are nowhere near brand new. This has been happening a while.”

You sigh. “I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.”


	3. Your name is John Egbert and you are such a drama queen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tells Dave everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter than I wanted so I'm sorry! Dave will get some chances to land some punches a little later.

Your father isn’t home. He’s off at the store and Dave tries to use this to his advantage. You’re not sure how, but it worked. He has you standing in the bathroom in nothing but your boxers so he can see all the bruises. He isn’t even completely dressed; just a pair of skinny jeans hastily pulled on so he wasn’t so exposed.

You don’t speak as he runs his hands over your chest and stomach, trying to examine your bruises closely. He doesn’t say a word and his silence frightens you. His face has returned to its usual poker-face default expression, but you can see the way the corners of his mouth twitch downwards ever so slightly when you wince.

“John,” he says quietly after what feels like ages of him touching you (in the least sexual way possible, thank you very much). His voice is completely void of any emotion whatsoever. That’s what scares you the most. Usually, no matter what, there is some sort of emotion in his voice. But now there’s nothing and god are you scared.

“Yeah…?” you whisper, mouth dry. Your hands are starting to shake.

“I want you to tell me what all of these bruises are from. Walk me through it.”

You open your mouth to protest. He immediately stops you.

You can hear the stress in his voice this time. If you aren’t mistaken, it’s trembling slightly; like he’s about to cry. You can’t do this to him. Oh, no, no, no… You do the only thing you can think of to do that will fix this: you tell him everything.

Everything spills from your mouth. You start where everything started: elementary school where you had trouble making friends. You were still an optimistic kid and having no friends didn’t put a damper on your childhood. You just had more imaginary adventures. Plus you didn’t have to share your toys or have an petty little kid fights.

Middle school was different than elementary, a lot different. This time they didn’t ignore you like they used to. This time they called you names and made fun of you. “Beaver-Face” was a popular slander along with “Four-Eyes” and “Egg-Head”. You didn’t think anything of it; at least they were noticing you! It was about this time that you got your computer for Christmas. You started hanging around the online forums and the like, meeting Jade, Rose, and Dave in the process. They were all you needed for a while. You’d rush home to hop onto your computer just to feel like you belonged for a little while before you were forced to log off to do your homework.

Freshman year wasn’t too bad. You’d get shoved occasionally, a couple bruises here and there. Slowly, they started to test the boundaries. They got more forceful and you started walking away with more and more bruises. You didn’t tell anyone. It turned into a game for them. Soon you were being cornered by small groups and getting a few punches thrown at you. You’d stay quiet until and they’d see how much they’d have to do to you to get you to start crying or beg them to stop. Over time, it became more and more of a challenge and soon more and more of them started getting in on it.

Tears spill. They fall down your cheeks and drip to the floor. There’s a soft splat that’s barely audible every time one lands on the tile floor. You don’t stop talking. You keep going; telling him everything like he wants you to. You’re scared he’ll figure out that he’s bitten off more than he can chew. You’re scared that telling him will be in vain. You’re scared that maybe he’ll think you’re pathetic. 

You’re scared he’ll leave you.

When you start telling him how they call you things like “fag” and “homo” now instead of “Beaver-Face” and “Four-Eyes”, he tenses up, or at least that’s what you assume by the way his breathing changes. You attribute it to him realizing you’re broken and a lost cause. You don’t look up.

You hear shuffling and then the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing. He’s gone. He left you.

You lose it. You start sobbing harder and you fall to the floor, not caring any more. You don’t care that you’re lying there in your boxers. You don’t care that you’re a mess. You don’t care that your side hurts when you lay on it that way. You feel so vulnerable.

And Dave is gone. Your first crutch in so long: gone, ripped away. You feel more broken than ever.

You lie there for an hour, maybe two, holding yourself together, but just barely. You just need more time… A few more minutes… Then you’ll just get up and stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’ll go get dressed. You’ll put that smile back on your face. You’ll be okay in just a couple of minutes.

Bullshit. You’ve been telling yourself that for the past hour.

You snap out of whatever miserable trance you’re in when you hear the doorknob jiggle slightly. Someone’s coming in. You sit up and wipe your eyes; prepared to face your father and make up an excuse.

But it’s not your dad who opens the door; it’s Dave. He’s standing there, dressed and with a shopping bag in his hand. The nearest Safeway is at least a mile away… You wait for him to speak.

Dave stands there silently for a moment, taking in the sight of you. You know you look terrible. Your eyes are red from crying, your nose is running just a little bit, your bruised chest is visible. Your entire body screams failure.

He sits beside you, slowly lowering himself to the floor as if you’re an animal who might scare. You wait for him to say something. Anything. You just need to hear his voice right now.

He doesn’t utter a word and the silence becomes more and more awkward, not to mention painful. Your chest aches to hear him say something. For him to tell you that he wasn’t going to leave you. That he was going to be there for you. That he was still your best friend even if you were a pathetic wimp. You sniffle slightly and wipe your eyes and nose again.

“I thought you left me,” you whisper and look at him.

You notice the way the corners of his mouth turn down: a frown. “Shit, Egbert. Why would I desert you? I just… Here.” He shoves the bag into your hands.

“Tissues. You left me for an hour to get me tissues?”

He huffs a little. “Yeah. Just. Seeing you cry is hard, okay? Plus I needed to think. Sorry I left.”

You don’t say anything. You try to figure out how you’re supposed to react to this. Dave Strider just said he was sorry and that he cared. The only thing you can think of to do is to burst out laughing.

He watches you, confused and worried. “John, what the fuck? What’s so funny? I brought you tissues because I couldn’t stand to see you crying. I walked the whole fucking way to Safeway and back. Yeah, I was being halfway selfish, but still. It counts.”

You slowly stop laughing. It was so unlike Dave for him to kind of just… say everything he was feeling. Very unlike Dave. You take it though. You grab this opportunity by the horns. You like the way he spoke to you. “No, sorry. I just… It’s good to laugh sometimes. It really is. I needed that.”

He looks you over again. His eyes trailing over your stomach. All your bruises make your skin around them look pale and sickly in comparison. It looks terrible. It feels terrible. But finally being able to share the pain with Dave makes it feel better. 

But there’s something nagging at you in the back of your mind. All the reasons you never told him come flooding back, all the ways you’ve felt over the years come barreling into you, every hit and insult ever flung your way is back.

Everything hits you, hard. It all hurts. Everything hurts. But you don’t cry. You’ve cried too much today already. You sit there and hold your ground. You wait for Dave to say something.

“Fucking hell, Egbert…” he mutters and gets to his feet. “How many guys do I have to beat up for ya?”

“None,” you say softly and set the tissues to the side. You know what’s coming next.

“What do you mean ‘none’? Are you nuts?”

“I mean, I don’t want you getting into the middle of this. I told you, isn’t that enough?”

He stares at you. “No. It’s not enough, Egbert. You’re getting the shit beaten out of you at school. That is not okay. Do you understand that?”

You don’t say anything. You do understand that, you really do understand that. You’ve got the bruises to prove that you definitely know that. It’s the idea of Dave fighting for you that you don’t like. It’s like a perfect knight in shining armor gave up fighting dragons to save princesses and decided to save the poor girl in the village. That’s not how fairy tales worked. Sure, it sounded sweet, but there was no point to it. Why bother with the poor girl when you can go straight for the princess?

You were the poor girl and just about everyone else in the world was the princess. Yeah, well, okay. You admit that this wasn’t your best metaphor, but it was the truth. You were a failure as… Something. You weren’t quite sure what yet.

“Shit, Egbert. Fine. I won’t beat anyone up, unless you come home some time this week looking worse than this. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now get dressed and we’ll play Mario Kart.”


	4. Your name is John Egbert and you are creepy as fuck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John does something he dubs as creepy and then goes to school the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just over 2000 words and I'm really proud of that okay.

You and Dave spend the rest of the weekend goofing around. Neither one of you bring up your bruises again; although you know that Dave hasn’t been able to stop thinking about them. Your dad seems to like Dave and you hope this means that he’ll be allowed to come and stay again.

Soon it’s Sunday night and you’re getting ready for bed. You put your weekend homework into your backpack and casually notice Dave noticing you noticing him watching you. He’s fallen into a habit of watching you silently while you work; whether it’s in the kitchen making the two of you a snack or when you were honest to god doing your homework. He sits in your desk chair as you set out your clothes for tomorrow.

He raises an eyebrow a little. “You a kid or something, Egbert? Who even lays out their clothes for the next day anymore?”

You don’t answer him, knowing he’s just teasing you. Once you’re all done setting up for school in the morning, you start stripping and pulling your pajamas on. You know he’s watching you. You know his eyes are tracing over your bruises. You know that his fists are clenching angrily. You know he’s imagining beating the shit out of someone for you.

You remove your glasses and set them down on your nightstand. You get into bed as Dave starts changing himself. You don’t watch him (but you want to, wait. What? No! of course not!). He eventually slides into bed beside you and rolls onto his side, his back to you, after he sets his shades down beside your glasses. You lie on your back and stare up at the ceiling while you listen to his breathing. He generally falls asleep right away, but it takes just a little bit longer tonight. When his breathing does change and becomes slowly and deeper, you know he’s asleep and you roll over to look at him. Moonlight filters in through your blinds and lights up the room just enough so you can look at him. His back is still to you and it will probably stay like that all night. He was a sound sleeper while you were restless.

He was sleeping in just his boxers again. His back bare. You notice the way his spine gently presses against his skin and is barely visible. You can see his shoulder blades sticking out just a little. His entire back is covered in freckles; his shoulders having the most and his lower back having one or two. The freckles trail up the back of his neck and disappear under his blond hair. You wonder (once again) what his hair might feel like in between your fingers.

Well… Dave is sleeping…

Nervously, you reach forward and carefully run your fingers through his hair in a slow petting motion. Oh, his hair is soft… Way softer than yours. Being as gentle and careful (maybe you’re being loving? No! he’s your best bro!) as you can, you trail your fingers pout of his hair and down his neck and back. You trace over the skin covered in freckles for a moment before tracing his shoulder blades. God, Dave was… beautiful? Was that the right word? It was the first thing to pop into your head…

You flinch away; pulling your hand to your chest to keep it there and off of him. No, no, no, no…. You did not just call Dave Strider’s back, skin, hair, freckles…. No, stop it. You did not just call Dave Strider beautiful. That. Just.

Fuck.

You slide out of bed and scramble to get your glasses onto your face. Your toes come in contact with the cold carpet as you move to scurry down the stairs. The kitchen. To the kitchen. You take a deep breath once you’re there and get yourself a glass of cold water. You sip it slowly and glance at the time on the microwave display.

12:07 am

You stop yourself from groaning. Oh well. Tomorrow will just be a long day or something. Nothing more. You’ll be tired, oh well. You sigh and set the glass down on the counter. Shit…

Going back to bed is out of the question at this point. You couldn’t. Your legs were already starting to feel like jello because of exhaustion alone. Well, if your bed was off-limits now, might as well use the couch. You make your way into the living room and settle into the couch. The throw blanket is barely big enough for you to fit comfortably beneath it.

You lie there for ages, but you can not fall asleep. Your mind is too busy, too full of Dave and his hair and his freckles and the way his skin felt under your finger tips… You look at the clock.

1:38 am

You groan and shit your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. Instead, images of Dave smiling at you come flooding into your mind, and you realize that he smiles at you a whole lot. Happy smiles, sad smiles, half smiles, smirks. Every smile imaginable, you’ve seen it on Dave’s face. That’s kind of a surprise. Dave isn’t one to really smile. Except around you, a small part of you whispers.

Sleep eventually overcomes you and in the morning you’re awakened by your father.

“John? Did you and Dave have a fight? Why are you sleeping down here?”

You groan softly and slide out from under the throw blanket. Your glasses are askew, but you fix them and blink a couple times to get your eyes to focus. Your dad’s watching you a little worriedly. You smile at him and run a hand through your messy hair.

“No, we didn’t have a fight. I came down for water and was too tired to go back up.”

He nods and goes into the kitchen as you go upstairs, being as quiet as possible. Once in your room again, you look at your bed (at Dave). Dave’s in a different position than when you left him. He’s curled up in a small ball. A smile tugs at your lips. His position tells you he go cold without you by his side.

That makes you feel better.

You move over to your desk chair where you set your clothes out for today the night before. You hurriedly change and sling your backpack over your shoulder. After a moment of hurriedly scribbling out a note on a nice blue post-it and pressing it to your computer’s monitor, you leave the room to go downstairs to eat the bacon and eggs your dad has made for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, shoving forkful after forkful of scrambled eggs into your mouth.

Your father nods and smiles. “Is Dave going to stay here while you’re at school?”

You nod and eat a piece of bacon. “Yeah. I left him a note. No big deal.” The note you’d scribbled out told him when you’d be home and that he was welcome to use your computer if he was bored.

He nods. “Ready to go yet?”

You shovel one more bite of eggs into your mouth and grab a piece of bacon for the road.

“Absolutely.”

The car ride is quiet, all your energy is gone. You’re starting to feel the after effects of not being able to sleep at night. Your eyelids droop a little and you fight to stay awake during the car ride.

Your dad drops you off in the front of the school and you automatically fix your glasses. Your black eye is fading away, but it’s still there and just screams failure at everyone who even glances your way. You’re ashamed so you hang your head until you arrive at your locker. You spin the cold metal dial as you listen to the chattering in the hallway. Most of it means nothing to you, but every once in a while someone makes a quip about the “fag who just looks more and more pathetic each day.”

The small locker opens up in front of you and you take a moment to more the heavy books from your backpack into the metal compartment. There’s nothing special in your locker, no pictures or goofy magnets like some of the girls in the school (why would you even have those in your locker anyway?). Just bare and used out of necessity.

As you’re putting the last heavy book in, you hear someone clear their throat behind you. Nervously, you glance back and see the quarterback of the football team grinning his sadistic smile at you. His teeth are yellow and you force yourself to glance at his eyes just for a moment; they’re those green ones you’ve come to hate. His golden blond hair is spiked up and looks nothing like Dave’s near-white locks. You eventually look away and shut your locker as he slams his hand against the locker next to yours. You barely flinch and just stand there, staring down at your feet.

He makes a sound that resembles some sort of growl and slams his other hand into the locker on the other side of you. He wants you to look at him. He wants you to feel scared. He wants to see that fear. You know what’ll happen if he has to do anything else so you turn to face him. Your eyes dart to his face, but all you can feel is the pain and indecency he’s caused you so you focus on his shirt and his chest. That’s better…

“Hey, fag,” he spits at you and you flinch. Everything this guy does makes you flinch. You don’t answer him, but it doesn’t really matter. He keeps talking anyway.

“Your eye looks pretty fucking terrible. Sorry about the new kid. He’s got a temper,” he says slowly, drawing out every syllable of every word. He wants to make this part of the daily torment as painful for you as possible.

You shrug slightly. “No biggie…”

This sends him reeling. Wrong thing to say. Definitely the wrong thing to say. He removes his hands from the lockers and grips the front of your shirt tightly. He lifts you up by it, just a couple of inches before leaning in close to your face. You don’t say anything and just let him do whatever. You’re scared, but you know if you make another quip he doesn’t like, you’ll just get hurt.

“Listen here, faggot,” he hisses and you feel the droplets of spit coming from his mouth landing on your face. Ew… “You don’t deserve to be here. You’re as retarded and fucking useless as sunglasses on a cloudy day. Which is fucking useless. You’re lucky I don’t just beat you to a pulp right here, right now, because that’s what a pansy like yourself deserves, got that?”

You nod slowly. “Yes, sir,” you mumble, hoping that’s the right thing to say.

It must’ve been because he drops you and shoves you backwards into the lockers before walking away. You take a shaky breath and hitch your backpack onto your shoulder. For a moment, you chew on your bottom lip, mulling over the idea of just skipping class and going home. You eventually sigh and decide against it and make your way to first period where the teacher hates you just as much as the football team does.

Which is a whole lot.

You take your seat in the middle of the classroom and just beg to whatever god is watching over you that this class will go without an incident for once. Apparently that god is too tired or too lazy to act on your request because you end up being kicked from all sides, knocked out of your chair, and kicked out of the classroom. Just a normal day in your first period…

Your second period teacher doesn’t hate you nearly as much, but he still ignores you most of the class and let’s you get harassed. This period you get note after note that read things like “fuck you faggot” or “why don’t you die?” or even “I’m going to kill to you.” These get shoved into your backpack at the end of the period so you can hurry out of the room.

Instead of going to your next class, you duck inside the bathroom and take a moment to try and relax. You try to slow your heartbeat and calm your breathing. You wipe your eyes once, twice, eventually you lose count and you’re sobbing. Fuck, you can’t do this. Not right here and definitely not right now. The bell rings and you know you’re going to be late to third period, but surprisingly enough, you don’t give a fuck. You just want to calm down and relax…

And that’s when you hear the unmistakable sound of the quarterback and the rest of his friends laughing.


	5. Your name is John Egbert and that was a really bad idea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries his best to confront the jerks out school, but it doesn't work out quite right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter is so short! I just knew what had to be done and it just didn't end up being very long, but the next chapter will be very long (I hope) and will probably involve Dave kicking some ass.

That laugh. That fucking laugh. It sends chills down your spine. It’s a throaty chuckle that squeaks slightly as each breath starts and ends. it’s truly and evil sound.

You gather your stuff together as quickly as you can, not that there’s much to gather. You fix your glasses and wipe your eyes one last time before you try to slip out of the bathroom.

But it appears Brad (the quarterback. His full name is Bradston Cooper) and the rest of the football team have decided to take a pit stop. You barely manage to lock yourself in one of the stalls when Brad’s ridiculous laugh is suddenly so close. Your breath hitches in your throat.

You clamber onto the toilet to hide your feet from them (cliché as hell, but it works) and to peer over the top of the stalls at them. You balance carefully on the toilet seat, not wanting to slip and get your shoe soaked.

Their laughter eventually tapers out and is replaced with their own fucked up versions of war stories. They all have one common element: your misery.

“So, that fag’s in my second period, right? I passed him this note telling ‘im to fucking kill himself! And then he just kept getting more and more notes and fuck. You should’ve seen his face.”

They all laugh and throw their heads back in how overwhelmingly funny that seems to be. You visibly wince; remembering the way those words looked on the paper scrap in his horrid handwriting and the way it made your breathing quicken and the way your heart beat quickened and the way tears welled up in your eyes and the way your throat closed up…

You stop yourself from remembering those feelings. You’re not going to turn back into a sniveling mess. You’re better than that. No, you’re going to watch and listen to the guys determined to make your life hell.

“Kay, so the homo,” another one of them starts after their laughter subsides. “I sit by him in first period, kay? Well, I shoved him out of his chair and he got in trouble. The teacher kicked him out of the room!”

This brings up another bout of uncontrollable laughter from them. You take a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. Tears are flowing again and well fuck, you sniffle.

They hear it. They the sniffle and they turn to look at the stall you’re hiding in. You freeze and watch as Brad’s face lights up with that twisted, cruel sense of joy he has.

“Well, looky here, guys. The fag’s been hiding and crying this whole time. Let’s give him something to cry about, shall we?” Brad grins and immediately one of the thinner, newer guys is sliding underneath the stall door without an ounce of shame to get at you. The others are cheering him on

You can’t move. You’re frozen with fear. Holy shit, you can’t do this. Holy shit, this can’t be happening. You’re not going to get beaten up in a fucking school bathroom. No Hell no. Fuck.

The guy in front of you laughs when sees you on the toilet. “Fucking hell, wimp,” he sneers and unlocks the stall door. Brad elbows his way in. He’s the tallest of them all and god damn his eyes are just so cruel.

He grabs your arm and yanks you down off of the toilet. You stumble and barely catch yourself. If you’d fallen, you’d have hit your head on the god damn toilet. You hiss slightly in pain because holy fuck his grip hurts.

You watch as the guys behind him laugh and the guy who slipped under the door has vanished from the stall. Brad chuckles and throws you against the side of the stall, hard. You clamp your mouth shut and try to stay silent. The more noise you make the more they enjoy it.

You fall to the ground after the impact and try to calm your quick breathing. Brad’s just laughing at you, much like everyone else. Everyone else in your entire life. No one takes you seriously. You’re a joke. A failure…

Only Dave treats you like a person. Well, so does your dad, but you don’t think he really counts. If he wasn’t your father he’d probably want nothing to do with you ever. But Dave counts. Dave definitely counts.

You manage to get to your feet and take a deep breath. They’re watching you. They’re laughing. They’re laughing at you.

“I’m not a fag,” you whisper. “My name’s John.”

They all shut up.

“Now listen here, fag,” Brad sneers after a moment of being shocked. “We really don’t give a shit. We’re just here enjoying the entertainement you provide us with.”

You clench your fists. “My name is John.”

Brad grabs the front of your shirt and leans in close. His breath smells terrible. “We don’t give a flying fuck about your name, fag. You’re just another one of those ‘sweet adorable little nerds’ that can’t get the girl because he is too pathetic. There is no place for you in this world. Wouldn’t surprise me if you killed yourself.”

And for a moment, it wouldn’t surprise you either. Death sounds like a gateway, a way out. You’d never have to deal with these jerks again, you’d never have to feel so useless, you’d never have to worry about this burden. Maybe taking your own life was the answer. Maybe it was the only thing that would save you.

You snap out of it for a moment before glaring up at Brad a bit defiantly, something you’ve never done before.

“I hate you,” you say quietly.

Then something happens and you black out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if anyone ever wants to talk to me or has any questions or anything, my tumblr is to-kill-a-homestuck so just send me a message on there! (Psst I really like talking to people.)


	6. Your name is John Egbert and being in the hospital could be worse.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up at the hospital and then he and Dave argue about Nic Cage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to make this longer but I like how it kinda ended. And I wanted to post this tonight for trickstersGambit because I met her today and she is just so wonderful!

When you wake up, everything seems so blurry and weird. There’s a weird heat around your right hand and you blink, once, twice, until your eyes start to focus. You look to see what’s so hot on your hand, but it hurts to turn your head that way and you groan and suddenly the heat is gone. You try to focus on where you are and what is going on, but you don’t have your glasses on and that makes this a little hard.

You hear mumbled voices, one’s angry and the other’s calm and certain. You can’t place who they are, but just knowing that they’re in here with you calms you down just a little.

They slowly seem to stop talking and refocus on you. You try to make out their shapes in front of you, but all you see is a mess yellow and pink with black sort of mixed in and blur of white and pink and some black.

“John?” white and pink and black says softly and you finally recognize your dad’s voice. He moves and soon you have your glasses on your face; they’re pretty beat up. “John, do you know where you are?”

You take a wild guess and your voice cracks softly. “A hospital…?”

Dave’s sitting at the foot of the hospital bed and he snorts. “Yeah, dumb ass.” His voice isn’t like usual. It’s cold and hard. He’s angry.

“What happened?” you mumble.

“Well, you blacked out at school because you were dehydrated, I believe. Young Bradston Cooper and the football team found you and took you to the nurse who panicked and called an ambulance. So you’re here now and have a possible concussion,” your dad spoke softly and sat down beside the bed. He offered you a smile and you wanted to tell him that there was more to the story. That you didn’t just black out. That the reason you may have a concussion is because you were knocked back into the stall door.

Dave watches you. He knows that story is bullshit. You can see it in the way he stiffens as your dad talks. He knows that you just got beaten up. He knows that’s it. End of story.

Instead of saying anything, you just nodded slowly. 

“Now that you’re awake,” he starts saying as he stands up again, even though he’d only been sitting for a moment. “I’m going to go call into work and see what I can do about the work that I missed today.” He leaves the room and soon you’re alone with Dave.

“I didn’t faint,” you say quietly. You know that Dave already knows that, but you figure he needs to hear you say it or something like that.

“I know,” he grumbles a little. His poker-face is really looking like shit right now compared to how cool and collected he usually is. It’s unnerving. But seeing your best friend in a hospital bed is probably just as bad.

“Brad’s the, uh, quarterback,” you continue to mumble quietly. “He, uh, he didn’t just find me.”

“Yeah. You got beaten up again, dumb ass,” he says bluntly and you flinch. Anger is just so present in his voice and it’s scary. It truly is. He is not happy with your bruises. He is not happy with your injuries. He’s not happy with the way Brad and the football treat you. He’s not happy that no one’s doing anything to help you. He’s not happy that you won’t go to anyone. He’s not happy with how you don’t fight back.

He’s not happy with you.

That realization hits you like one of one Brad’s well-aimed punches. The guy had a mean right hook. “Dave,” you whisper and try to hide the fact that you’re on the verge of tears. God, you’re pathetic. “Dave, I’m sorry…”

Dave laughs. A dark, humorless laugh. It unnerves you even more than before. “That’s hilarious, John. Really, it is. You’re the one in the hospital bed because you got the shit beaten out of you and you’re sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry that those guys are suck fucking dicks that they’d do this to a guy like you? You’re an idiot. Your logic is flawed. You’re lucky I didn’t pester Rose and Jade the second I found out. Rose would have had a fucking field day with all this shit.”

You just bite your lip and shut up. What could you say? Dave was right. He really was.

“Please don’t tell the girls,” you murmur after a while.

He stays quiet for a moment, thinking this over. “I don’t know, John. I think I have to. They’ll want to know about all of this.”

“Yeah, but please. Let me tell them on my own time…? I don’t want to tell them yet.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he stands up and takes the chair that your dad had been sitting in. He reaches over and carefully takes your glasses off your face. Everything’s blurry after that, but you don’t need to be able to see to know that Dave won’t leave you here, by yourself. He’s going to stay. He’s your best bro. Your best friend. He’s the most important dude in your life apart from your dad.

Wow, was there any possible way to sound gayer than that?

“John, I hope you know that this qualifies as an invitation for a classic ass whooping Strider style.”

“I know,” you mutter and shift in the bed. You didn’t want it to come to this. You didn’t want Dave to have to put himself in danger and beat the shit out of those dicks. You know that arguing with him will be useless. He’ll just bring up the “epic Strider strifes on the rooftop with Bro and shitty swords galore” and you really don’t have a good argument to counter that.

“Good, because those guys are going to get the deluxe service. I’m talking open cuts and bruises, black eyes, and maybe even a broken tooth or two. They’re just lucky they’re not getting the premium package. That one includes broken bones and sobbing in surrender.”

You roll your eyes a little, but you know Dave’s being serious. He’s really going to beat the shit out of these guys. These guys who have put you through so much shit and pain and tears…

Dave carefully puts the glasses back on you. When he speaks, his voice is soft and almost scared. “John… I really do care about you past all the irony and shit… You’re my best bro and I mean, hey, you’re letting me stay at your place while Bro’s at his disgusting con full of porn stars and sick freaks. Like, they have a terminal case of porn addiction and sick fetishes that will kill them like fucking cancer, dude.”

You chuckle softly and Dave cracks a smile. One of his hands rests hesitantly on your arm. You don’t flinch away from the contact even though you usually do when it comes to this sort of thing. You’ve been so jumpy recently that it’s kind of ridiculous.

You open your mouth to say something when a doctor walks into the room. He’s cheery and definitely balding. “Hello, John,” he says and his voice reminds of someone who might be a kindergarten teacher just because his voice makes you want to trust him and is so sincere. “Now, you don’t have a concussion like we feared, but you will have a nasty bump and we found some strange bruises on your chest and stomach. Do you remember how you got them?”

You freeze up. You’re not going to tell him the truth and you glance at Dave, just a little panicked. You’re not sure if he noticed because of his shades, but soon he’s talking smoothly and you’re almost convinced that what he’s saying is the truth. The doctor nods along with his words and smiles. He’s buying it.

“Alright, that’s all I needed to know. You can leave in a couple hours once we make sure you’re pretty stable. You’re doing great,” the doctor says with a smile and pats your knee. You flinch at this, but barely. The doctor doesn’t notice but you think that maybe Dave does.

As the doctor steps out, your dad steps in. “Hello,” he says. He sounds tired and a little frustrated. “So we’ll go home in a little bit, but until then are you two alright just chilling here by yourselves? I need to run into the office. I can pick something up to keep the two of you busy for now.”

You smile at him a little. “What about a movie?”

Dave groans dramatically. “God damn it, Egbert. We are not watching Nic Cage movies because you’re in the hospital and have a weird homo-crush thing on him.” You stick your tongue out at him. 

“Could you pick up Back To The Future?” you ask your dad and he nods. 

“Yes, of course. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”

Once he leaves, Dave stares at you. You’re suddenly very aware of his hand on your arm and you’re not sure why.

“Time travel movies, bro? God damn, but at least it’s not Nic Cage.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t have a crush on him, fyi. He’s just a really good actor and I have a lot of respect for him so if you can’t accept that the man has talent, we can’t be friends.”

He snorts, literally snorts, because he’s laughing so hard. You’ve never seen Dave like this and it’s… nice. You like seeing him laugh and smile just a little.

“Too late, bro. You know who Nic Cage plays in every movie ever? He plays Nic Cage. That man has no talent and you just like his sweaty chest because for some reason it makes you swoon like a little girl who’s been promised candy. And we’re already bros. We’re best bros, so good luck getting rid of me just because Nic Cage has stolen your virgin heart.”

“What do you mean virgin heart?” You don’t bother to protest to his claims on Nic Cage’s acting. You know what a good actor he is and well, fuck Dave if he doesn’t see it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you’ve never loved anyone and, guess what, your dad doesn’t count unless the two of you are fucking.”

“Ew! That’s disgusting, Dave!”

He just laughs. “I’m just kidding, man. But I mean you’re a fifteen year old kid who’s never kissed a girl or touched a boob. Your love life is nonexistent. Your heart belongs to that sweaty man who offers his, I don’t know, five year old kid a stuffed rabbit that looks like utter shit because it’s been being held onto by sweaty as fuck Nic Cage.”

You pout a little. “That was a touching scene! You don’t have a heart if you don’t just want to cry when you see it!”

But something he said tugs at your mind. Never kissed a girl. Never even touched one. That’s kind of sad, isn’t it? To be honest, none of the girls at school ever caught your eye and well, why would they? They were tormenting you just as much as the football team was, but they were gossiping and letting you just overhear their conversations so you could hear the way they said your name or the way they laughed at your existence. 

“That entire movie was a fucking joke, Egbert.”

“Yeah well!” you try to protest, but you’re fresh out of things to say. Dave just chuckles and doesn’t say anything. He’s pleased that he’s won. His hand is still on your arm and you start to think about how nice that is. How wonderful it is to be so close to someone. How calm it makes you.

Eventually your dad comes back and drops off the movie. Dave gets up and puts the DVD into the player and starts it up before sitting back down beside you and returning his hand to your arm. You glance at him, hoping to know why he’s doing that, but he doesn’t say anything and is focused on the movie.

You must’ve fallen asleep at some point during the movie. The last thing you remember was Marty McFly’s mom making moves on him. Oh well. You glance over at Dave and he’s sound asleep with his head next to your shoulder on the bed. His arms have wormed their way around yours and his shades aren’t even on his face anymore. They’re laying on the bed. You carefully reach over and pick them up.

He doesn’t move and you let him stay asleep on your arm. Having him so close to you is comforting, especially when he’s so vulnerable. Or at least you’re pretty sure he is. You never know with Dave Strider.

You look over the shades and notice all the slight dings they’ve accumulated over the past two years since you mailed them to him. They were still in really good shape. You were impressed with how much care he took with them. Using only the one hand, you carefully fold the sides in and set them back down next to Dave’s head. 

Dave snorts softly in his sleep, like a half snore, and you can’t help but laugh. In any situation where he’s not being ironic or whatever it is that he does, he really is kind of humorous. Like in a he just seems so different you can’t help but laugh kind of way. 

You carefully reach over and touch his hair lightly. It’s just as soft as it was last night. Twirling it between your fingers, you can’t help but smile. You’re the only to have ever seen him like this. Even his bro probably hasn’t seen Dave so at peace. It’s really quite… Beautiful? Maybe. For the time being that word is a good one. You’ll just have to wait until you think of a better one.

Something must’ve happened because the doctors tell you that they just want to make sure that you are one hundred percent better before they release you so they make you stay the night. You honestly don’t care. Dave is sleeping on your arm and you don’t want to have to go home yet. You like this set up much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the kinda crappy end. D:


	7. Your name is John Egbert and you are slowly getting gayer and gayer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave and John have their Mario Kart rematch.

You’re awoken the next morning by a doctor silently checking on you, his hand pressing on your chest gently. You groggily mutter a “Hey” and he chuckles slightly. Dave’s still resting on your arm and ou can hear your dad’s light snores coming from the corner of the room.

“What time is it?” you mumble and gently shift your arm under Dave’s head so it’s more comfortable for you. He stays asleep because he’s a Strider. He’s lectured you on the topic that is a Strider’s sleep schedule several times; go to bed late, sleep for hours, wake up at 3, repeat.

“Around 7,” he answers before looking back at his clipboard. “I wanted to get a closer look at your bruises.” It’s sort of an unspoken question and you nod tiredly.

“Sure, go ahead.”

You watch him as he pulls the sheets back until they’re resting on your hips and as he lifts the thin hospital gown so he can see the damage on your torso. A couple new bruises are there from yesterday and your stomach looks like a morbid patchwork quilt of discolored skin.

Neither you or the doctor say anything as he carefully examines them; pressing on them every once in a while. You wince when appropriate, but you feel almost sick watching examine the bruises, so you focus on Dave’s sleeping face. 

You get lost in thought and you only realize the doctor is trying to talk to you after he’s said your name three times.

“Hm, what?” you mumble.

“John, I’m worried about these bruises. You’re not being beaten at home or anything right?” he asks, the typical questions just in case your perfect dad is abusing you.

You’re a little shocked, to be honest. “No! My dad is the best dad ever. He doesn’t beat me…” you say quietly, not wanting to wake up the other two people in the room.

He nods. “What about him?” He gestures to Dave.

“No! Of course not! He’s visiting from Texas. There’s no way he could’ve done this to me…” Your voice goes quiet. There was no possible way that Dave could ever hurt you. Not a chance in hell.

The doctor nods again. “Then who? Who could and would do this to you, John?”

You look at the doctor, trying to understand something, anything, about him and who he was when he wasn’t in his coat and holding his clipboard. What kind of person he was. What kind of father he was. What kind of role model he was.

“A whole lot of people,” you murmur and he gives you a sad smile.

“I want to help you, John, but I don’t know if there’s a way to do that without telling your father and suggesting you be home schooled. I don’t know what kind of help you need and I don’t want to overstep my boundaries as a physician, but I do want you to know that you didn’t deserve a single bruise.”

And then he’s quietly fixing the hospital gown and pulling the sheet back up. He offers you one more smile before leaving the room and it takes all your willpower to stop yourself from bawling like a baby. You know he’s promised you his silence on the matter and you have never been so grateful to anyone in your life.

You lay awake for a couple of hours and let what the doctor said sink in. You didn’t deserve the beatings. You were a good kid. You deserved better. You were worth something. Well, he hadn’t said all of that, but it was implied.

And hearing it from someone else (implied or not) really helped. It wasn’t just you in this anymore. You had allies who believed in you. The doctor was one of them and so was your dad (if you ever really told him) and of course, Dave. Dave was there.

When Dave wakes up, he immediately snatches up his shades and sits up with a yawn. Your dad had woken up an hour ago and had left to see what was going on with getting you discharged so it’s just you and Dave in the room.

“Mornin’,” he mutters and his Texan accent is obvious in his words. He’s not awake enough to force his voice to hide it.

“Good morning,” you say with a small smile.

“You get to go home today, right? Because you owe me a rematch on Mario Kart.”

And you do get to go home later that day. Throughout your whole stay at the hospital and through all of the mess that is going home, Dave doesn’t leave your side. Your dad doesn’t make you go to school for a couple of days after you come home from the hospital and you’re grateful for that. Brad would just torment you about your new aches and pains like usual and well, Dave would demand to come with you.

You let yourself imagine Dave beating the ever loving shit out of Brad and the rest of them. It really is an entertaining thought; one you’re guilty of enjoying to the utmost extent.

Wednesday night after dinner and the demanded rematch of Mario Kart where you ended up shouting “Fuck Rainbow Road!” at the top of your lungs when Dave beat you fair and square (luckily your dad had stepped out back to light his pipe so he didn’t hear you), you turn to look at your best friend.

“I have to go to school tomorrow,” you tell him quietly and he nods.

“And I’m coming with you.”

You want to tell him no, that that’d be ridiculous and stupid, but you know Dave and he won’t take no for an answer.

And you kind of want him to come with you.

You sort of secretly want him to beat the shit out of Brad.

Yeah, you’re sort of a terrible person.

“And there’s nothing I can say to make you stay home, huh?”

“Nope.”

You smile at him. Dave was a good guy and an ironic gentleman. Sure he wasn’t exactly classy, but he’d still pull your chair out for you or you know, beat the shit out of bozos for you. How romantic. Sharing a bottle of wine after a-

Wait.

Hold up.

What?

What!

Romantic. You used that word to describe Dave beating the shit out of Brad and the rest of them. Romantic. You used the word romantic.

Holy fucking shit.

Your cheeks heat up and you become flustered. Dave notices and the tweak in his right eyebrow is enough for you to tell he’s confused.

“Shit Egbert, stop blushing lie one of Bro’s kawaii anime school girls.”

You snap out of it quickly enough and spit out, “Since when am I an animated sex icon? Sheesh. I bet you’re imagining me in one of those ‘kawaii’ school uniforms.”

“Since you started blushing like one. And yeah, I am. You look stupid.”

You’re not sure what about his response renders you speechless, but you’re pretty sure it was the part about him imagining you in a schoolgirl uniform. Yup, that’ll do it.

A victorious smirk spreads across his face as he turns back to Mario Kart.

“Rematch?”

“No Rainbow Road this time. We’re doing Coconut Mall.”

This makes him laugh and a smile slowly spreads across your face. As he starts the race, you notice him shifting towards you or maybe that’s just your imagination. Either way, when his leg presses against yours, you lose your concentration (and your substantial lead). Out of the corner of your eye, you see the corner of Dave’s mouth flick up into a smile and his usually hard poker face, softens.

He wins, but it was a close race. You were just distracted by, well, Dave. He was the reason you lost. But you really didn’t mind. Dave was close to you, physically close, and you really liked it.

“Beat cha fair and square once again, Egbert.”

“Yeah, well. You must be good at it.”

“That’s the wimpiest excuse I’ve heard out of your mouth, Egbert.”

“Well, it’s true, okay?”

And then he did something you weren’t expecting at all. 

He hugged you. Not some half bro hug, but a real, full on hug that showed that in his own ironic Dave Strider way that he loved you. Bros love their bros, right?

Platonically at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update this sooner! I am now working on a Davekat fanfiction on the side of this and I am really proud of the premise for that. But I hope to continue to update this weekly!


	8. Your name is John Egbert and that may or may not have been your first rodeo.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave and John have a heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am one cheesy mother fucker, this is dedicated to Haiden.

Dave’s arms eventually fall away and you immediately feel lost without them. There’s a pang in your heart when he gives you a sad smile. He’s human and he’s… scared for you.

“John, now this isn’t going to be some ironic spilling of feelings. You and I are going to have a totally genuine heart to heart and we’re going to have one now.”

You’re surprised by the way there’s actual feeling in his voice. Not the twinge of something in his usual drawl, but emotion that really tells you how upset he is and how worried he is. There’s something you don’t hear everyday.

“Let’s go upstairs,” you say quickly, just trying to prolong the inevitable just a little bit. He nods and you take a moment to turn off the game and put the controllers away. His foot starts tapping as he stands by the corner of the couch. He’s growing impatient with you.

Once you’re satisfied with the room, the two of you go upstairs. You rest on your bed and he takes the swivel chair by your computer. He pulls it over to the side of the bed and after a moment, he rolls his eyes (or at least you’re pretty sure he does behind his shades).

“Hello, my name is Dave Strider and I’m a cool kid,” he announces. When you don’t say anything and just stare at him blankly, he groans and says, “The correct follow-up would be ‘Hello, Dave.’ Shit, you suck at this.”

This makes you laugh a little. You’re not a hundred percent sure why though. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not familiar with the etiquette of addicts.”

“Shut up. Speaker has the floor and I’m the speaker.” He adjusts his shades before eventually just taking them off so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. He’s so vulnerable without his shades. “I do have feelings,” he states and doesn’t bother to return his shades to his face. He doesn’t look at you dead on though so it’s not all that different. “But I mean, Bro toughened me up. He taught me how to hide them. He taught me to ignore them, but damn it, John. I can’t. Not when you’re being beaten and hurt and just… Fuck…”

He goes quiet and stares at the window. Not out it. He’s still there with you. His mind isn’t out among the clouds. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to do. His voice had had emotions and it had cracked and holy fuck when did these tears start?

You’re not sobbing or anything, but tears are falling from your eyes and are leaving shiny, wet trails down your cheeks. You wipe them away as soon as possible and take in a shaky breath.

“Dave, I’m scared.”

He doesn’t say anything. You don’t say anything. The room is silent.

He eventually moves from the swivel chair and sits beside you on the bed. Neither one of you say anything.

He wraps one of his arms around your shoulders. Not a word.

He carefully removes your ruined glasses from your face. Your breath catches.

He’s gently tilting your chin up to look at him. He’s dead silent.

He leans in.

He kisses you.

And you kiss him back.

It’s wonderful until your conscience catches up to you and you jerk away. You feel physical pain everywhere. Your bruises ache, your head is spinning, your stomach churns, you feel hot.

You can’t believe that happened.

Dave looks hurt, like you slapped him and that’s too much. You burst into tears. He holds you without question. He pulls you close and cards his fingers through your hair silently. He’s so gentle and so unlike the Dave you are used to. He has emotions. He’s a human being. You want to push him away, but you don’t. It’s a bittersweet feeling.

But the problem with him just being there is that you like it. You liked it when he kissed you and now you’re liking it when he holds you.

And that meant that you were as disgusting and pathetic as Brad and the rest of the football team said. You were a fag. You were a homo. You were a homosexual and there was something really fucking wrong with you.

Despite this overwhelming feeling of sickness that racks your stomach, you stay in Dave’s arms. It feels like hours, but in actuality it’s probably about twenty minutes. Probably less. Neither of you speak or even move for that matter until your eyes dry and your sobs stop. He doesn’t leave.

“John,” he says softly, worry an unwelcome visitor in his voice. “I’m sorry…”

He apologized. He fucking apologized. Dave mother fucking Strider apologized to you and you just want to slap him.

“If you’re apologizing for kissing me, don’t you dare.”

“Fine. Then tell me what’s wrong. Why did John Egbert burst into tears when I delivered a kiss the caliber of romance novels and the like to his lips?”

You take a deep breath before starting.

“I liked it. That’s what’s wrong.”

“John, are you saying that you’re a homophobic asshole?”

“No! No, no, no, no! People can be gay and that’s alright and everything, but I can’t be. No…”

“Why not?”

“Because if I am, then that means that every single beating I’ve ever had, I deserved. That they’ve been right all along. That I’m a worthless fucking fag who deserved every punch and every insult and everything they’ve done to me. I’ve deserved it all. They’re right and just… Fuck.”

Dave’s arms become rigid around you. He’s pissed off; either at your logic or the jerks who hurt you in the first place. Or at you. Or all three of the above. He probably hates you now. You probably just lost the single most important person in your life because you are just the dumbest asshole to ever live.

“John, why the fuck would you ever think like that? No one deserves to be beaten up, gay or not. You’re delusional if you believe that.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. But just because he’s right doesn’t mean you don’t feel that way. Logic doesn’t always overcome emotions.

“I’m not a homosexual,” you whisper.

“No, John. I hope you’re not just saying that because of those fucking jerks. You are only allowed to say that when it’s the god damn truth and you are not hiding it from yourself to save yourself from emotional torment. You didn’t deserve to be beaten up and you definitely deserve it because you’re gay or bi or whatever the fuck you want to decide you are. Hell, you don’t have to tell anyone. I’ll be the only one to know.”

“But I’ll know.”

He doesn’t say anything. You know he wants to. That he wants to snap at you. That he wants to make you see that you’re being ridiculous and stupid. But he doesn’t. He lets you do your own thing. Lets you figure it out yourself. And you thank him for his silence.

He stays next to you, arms around you, and eventually, he kisses you again.

And this time, you don’t pull away. You kiss him back and keep your lips locked with his for as long as you can. You keep his warm lips on yours and god damn is it better than the first kiss. There’s something there. There’s something between the two of you. It makes your heart race and beat so loud that you’re scared that Dave can hear it.

Dave’s the one to eventually pull away and when he does, it’s slow and he smirks at you. “Hope I didn’t steal your first kiss,: he says, trying to slip back into his usual cool kid demeanor. Being normal and emotional sees to be taxing and tiresome for him.

“Well, you did,” you say softly, a little flustered. “Girls would rather make fun of me than make out with me.”

He nods slightly, a quick jerk of his head. “Figures.”

“How many people have you kissed? Before me…”

He takes a moment to think and you silently note the fact that he seems thrown by the question and that his shades are still on the swivel chair.

“Four. Three girls, one guy.”

“So are you… gay or…?”

He pauses again and absentmindedly runs his fingers through your hair. He seems to be trying to groom you and make you pretty or something.

“Gay works. Yeah. Sounds about right. The three girls were from a game of spin the bottle in eighth grade. For most of them it was their first boy-girl party and let me tell you, Strider was the shit with the ladies back then. The guy was this boy in my French class last year. He asked me out in French, the language not the class, and I agreed without realizing what he had actually said. We had a pretty nice date which ended in a good night kiss and he never spoke to me again. Strange kid.”

“Right,” you murmur and scoot yourself closer to Dave. You just want to be close to him right now. You want his arms to remain around you and you want his warm chest pressed against somehow. Like now, it’s pressed against your shoulder and that is nice.

He doesn’t press you for anymore information and he just let’s you sit there, pressed against him. The two of you sit like that until your dad knocks on the door and tells the both of you to go to bed because you have school in the morning and oh shit Dave’s coming with you to protect you, isn’t he?

That makes you smile, just a bit, as you’re getting ready for bed and when the two of you do slip under the covers, Dave doesn’t hesitate to go right back to holding you. You fall asleep curled up against him and damn, if it isn’t the best way to fall asleep you’ve ever heard of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took me so long to write! First I had writer's block and then I just couldn't get it done for whatever reason. But now, I finally got it done and because I feel like you guys have already waited too long, I've gone through it myself for mistakes.
> 
> Anyway, I am alternating between this fic and my other one, Gold Rush, for updates so yeah.


	9. Your name is John Egbert and today went nothing like you planned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes to school and Dave kicks ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel absolutely terrible that this took so long to get written! But here it is now, enjoy!

You fall asleep with Dave’s arms around you. He’s going to protect you. He really is. You don’t have to worry about with Brad by yourself anymore. You have Dave to back you up. He’s your best bro. Your best bro whose arms were around you when you woke up a few minutes ago. Your best bro you had kissed. Oh. Yeah. That happened. Past tense. Last night.

Shit.

Dave’s still asleep with his arms around you. His sunglasses are still on his face. Askew, but there. Your own glasses are on the bedside table. They’re still pretty beat up, but your dad called for a replacement that’ll be done in a week or so. You’ll have new glasses soon.

It takes some effort on your part to focus on your alarm clock and see the time. It’s still too early to warrant getting out of bed and ready for school, so you just curl up to Dave a little more. You’re going to make the most of being with him. He has to leave at the end of the week...

You lay with him, like this, for a while. You’re dozing off everyone once in awhile, but you remain awake and close to him. Maybe Dave is what you need. Maybe he’s the answer to your problems. Maybe he’s your knight in shining armor.

He shifts a little in his sleep and you freeze. You’re worried you’ve woken him up. After a moment of restless shifting, he relaxes and you cautiously rest your head on his chest. You wait for him to wake up and be mad, but he stays sound asleep, so you let yourself relax and the breath you’ve been holding comes out as a content sigh. Dave’s heartbeat gently thuds in your ears. It’s a steady pace, his heartbeat, and it’s nice. It’s constant. You’ll miss this when he’s gone.

But enough with the thoughts of impending doom. He’s with you now and that’s all that mattered.

Eventually it’s time to get up and you give him a gentle shake before a more forceful one to get him up. He’s bleary eyed and slow as he gets himself dressed in his usual cool kid attire, but you don’t rush him. Instead, you focus on getting yourself ready. Neither of you talk much. Last night’s kiss isn’t brought up and you start to think it was all a dream. Until he corners you at the top of the stairs, you’re convinced that it was a dream. A dream that made your stomach churn with a mixture of butterflies and disgust.

But when he corners you, his arms pinning your back against the railing, you realize that maybe it had happened. Maybe you had kissed those slightly chapped lips of his and maybe he had kissed you back. Maybe that wasn’t a dream. 

“Um... Hey, Dave...” you mumble quietly.

He doesn’t say anything and just gently brushes some hair out of your face. There’s the remnants of bruises here and there and you know that’s what he’s looking at. He feels like he’s somehow responsible for your pain, one way or another. Either it’s because he couldn’t protect you or because you didn’t tell him in the first place and he just let it happen. Either way, he feels guilty for you pain. 

“John...” he murmurs and looks over you for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just... Thinking about when you kissed me last night, that’s all.”

He tenses up a little and bites at his lip; a nervous habit you’d never seen him do before now. It had happened. Right. And you had freaked out, based on his reaction. You weren’t just making things up. Good, good. Or maybe bad? Oh, who knew?

“Right. Well. Let’s go to school,” he mumbles and it seems he drops whatever he was going to say. His arms fall from your sides and he almost seems hurt. He does take your hand and leads you down the stairs though. Your stomach flip flops.

He lets it go when you get to the kitchen where your father is sipping coffee as he finishes serving up breakfast. He’s made pancakes.

The two of you eat in silence. Dave quietly asks your father for a cup of coffee as well. He obliges, but warns him that it’s as black as a coffee can be. Maybe he’ll want to use some sugar or creamer? Dave declines and drinks it black without a change in his expression.

You and your father are both impressed.

After pancakes, your dad clears the dishes away as you pull your backpack onto your back. Dave just stands around drinking his coffee with his shades on like the coolest kid on the block (which he kind of is because well, everyone around here is kind of a major dick). You’re waiting by the door for the two of them to finish up. Dave’s soon by your side with his hands shoved into his pockets and your dad is soon there to drive you off to school. He doesn’t question the fact that Dave’s coming with you at all.

The car ride is silent and the two of you sit in the back seat as your father drives you to school. Hesitantly, you reach for Dave’s hand halfway through the car ride; for comfort. You need someone by your side and, well to be honest, you’re scared of going to school after ending up in the hospital because of Brad. Brad... Oh fuck.

You’re going to have to deal with Brad today, but Dave will be there so hopefully you’ll be okay.

Hopefully.

Dave takes your hand without a second thought and gently squeezes it. He’s there. He’s going to protect you. He cares about you and your well being. You’re not going to go to the hospital again.

When your dad pulls in front of the school, you let go of Dave’s hand and get out of the car. Dave follows and you quickly tell your dad to have a good day and drive safe before you lead Dave into the office. You’re going to need to get him a visitor’s pass or something.

The secretary looks up at you a little suspiciously. “How can I help you?” she mumbles and puts her romance novel to the side.

“I need a visitor’s pass for my friend,” you say and gesture to Dave who just nods.

“Well, have you talked to your teachers about it, hm? Are they okay with this?”

You stand there, not sure what to do really. “No... I haven’t...” You’re panicking on the inside. You really are. If Dave’s not with you at school then Brad will beat you up and he’ll make your day a living hell and you just don’t know if you can take that right now. No. You know you can’t take that right now. 

Dave just nods and puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “It’s all good. I’ll just go home and be back when school’s over. I’ll pick you up or something,” he murmurs quietly and that kind of relaxes you a little. Brad only really beats the shit out of you after school and if Dave’s there, then you might be saved. Might. Probably. Hopefully.

The secretary nods and the bell rings. “You.” She points at you. “Get to class. You.” She points at Dave. “Go home.”

You nod and give Dave the quickest, no homo-est (okay maybe it is a little homo) hug you can manage before he leaves and you have to go to class.

You guess the story of your hospitalization spread around the school because a lot of people leave you alone. You get shoved around in the halls, no difference there, but in class, no one’s tormenting you. You’re left alone. Even by the teachers. It’s a really... comforting thing. You wish everyday could be like this.

Once school ends, you go out front and Dave’s standing there waiting for you. You all but run over to him and give him your best bro hug before you hear that familiar sound that makes your skin crawl: Brad’s laughter. He’s coming your way with all his football buddies. Well, fucking hell.

“Well, look! He’s got himself a boyfriend, guys!” Brad sneers once he comes close enough that he can grab the front of your shirt, which he does without a second thought. You try to protest, claim that Dave is just a friend from out of town, that he’s your best friend, but you can’t seem to form the words. Brad just laughs and shoves you towards the other guys who just shove you to the ground and kick you a couple times. Nothing new. Not yet.

As you’re getting back to your feet, you expect another shove or punch or something, but instead there’s nothing. No one’s pushing you back down. Confused, you look at where Brad is and see that Dave is beating the ever loving shit out of him and his football pals. He’s throwing punches and kicks and after a few minutes they’re all lying on the ground groaning in pain.

“You win this time, fag, but when this guy isn’t here to protect you, we’ll be giving you hell,” Brad spits out along with some blood. Dave punched him in the face or something.

You’re about to say something snippy, when Dave steps in front of you in a protective position. “Who says I’m going anywhere? I’m not gonna let my best friend have to deal with your bullshit. You wanna beat him up? Fine, but you have to beat me up first and I ain’t a pushover.”

His voice is angry and upset. His Texan accent is evident in his voice. He’s worked up and it throws you off. Though he’s been anything but his poker face recently so it shouldn’t surprise you one bit, but it does. You’re so used to him and his poker face.

Brad just rolls his eyes. “We’ll get to him and you. Neither one of you will be to run and hide, got that?”

Dave spits on the ground near where Brad is lying. “Yeah. Got it. Next time you’ll be in the hospital and John will be at home and okay.”

And with that Dave’s dragging you home. He’s holding onto your wrist and walking way too fast, you can barely keep up. He’s so upset and pissed off, but as your walk stretches on, he relaxes a little and soon you’re walking at a fairly normal pace and his hand is in yours. Fingers intertwined, the whole shebang. Maybe he is your boyfriend...

Before you get a chance to ask, you’re home and Dave is dragging you inside. He lets go of your hand once you get to the door and you drop your backpack and shoes off there before going to the kitchen to get a snack. Dave hops onto the counter and watches you make yourself a sandwich. The two of you are silent until you break the ice.

“What are we?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are we like... a couple or something now? I just don’t know. We kissed and we were holding hands... I just want to know what we are. What I am to you so I can figure out what you are to me.”

Dave is quiet, but he nods. “I understand,” he murmurs after a while. “Do you want to go out with me, is the question I guess. Because I’ve made it pretty obvious I have this ironic cool kid crush on you that isn’t all that ironic at all because it’s legit as fuck.”

You finish your sandwich before you answer. “I think... I think I might want to go out with you... Because I like you. I like you more than I thought I did. You’re important to me and I like kissing you so... Yeah. Let’s go out or something?”

Dave gets a very uncharacteristic grin that stretches across his face. He can’t help it, you guess. He’s just as excited as you are about this, even though you’re also pretty damn scared. All the stuff about Brad being right comes back to you and it’s unsettling. He’s not right. No. You’re a good person. Being gay doesn’t mean anything.

And who said you were gay anyway? Maybe you were just Strider-sexual or some shit. Maybe you were attracted to girls, but Dave was just the hottest thing on legs or maybe he was feminine enough that you were still attracted to him. Okay, so none of those are good ideas about why you like Dave so much. Maybe you are gay or at least bisexual or something. Either way, you like Dave and he likes you back so you two are a thing now. 

Yeah. A thing. Boyfriends.

And Dave has to leave at the end of the week. That doesn’t make this experience anymore fun than it already is. In fact, it makes it worse. A lot worse. You’re going to get attached and then he’s going to get ripped away from you. Well, you were already going to get attached with him coming over because he’s your best bro, best friend, but now with there being a romantic sort of thing going on, it was worse. It hurt more.

Fucking hell. Romance sucked balls.

But romance was good too, you guess. It meant loving someone and being with them because they made you happy and all that good stuff. Dave did make you happy. He was still your best friend. It was just... You don’t know. Complicated. You knew that you liked him at this point, but you weren’t sure to what these other feelings were. Gosh you were so confused...

But you were going to be okay. Once Dave left you were going to find a way to still be with him and the like. You were going to make this work. You weren’t going to lose him as a bro or a bro-friend (hehe, get it? it’s like boyfriend but bro instead of boy! hehe!). He was important to you and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

It was comforting when Dave hopped off the kitchen counter and hugged you. The two of you stood like that, embracing, for one minute. Then five. Then ten. Just standing there hugging it out like bros, but then he moved. He gently used his finger to tilt your head up and press a soft kiss to your lips and then you and him stood there, embracing with your lips, like boyfriends. 

Yeah... Like boyfriends.

You were really starting to like the sound of that word.

Boyfriends.


	10. Your name is John Egbert and Dave has to leave soon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday and Dave has to go home soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE I APOLOGIZE.

You and Dave agree to not to tell anyone except Rose and Jade about your relationship. You know your dad won’t mind the whole dating another guy thing but you really don’t want to have “the talk” with your father just yet. You’re not planning on sleeping with Dave at the moment and you really are not planning on having to listen to your father talk to you about sex.

Friday is on the horizon and by on the horizon you mean tomorrow. It’s the last day of school you have while Dave’s here and then he plans to leave on Sunday. So basically you’ve got Friday and Saturday to chill with Dave before he has to leave. You don’t want him to go. You really don’t. He’s been this rock for you and you’re stable now.

You never were this stable.

But you know he has to leave. You know that he doesn’t want to, but he has to. You know that he doesn’t want to leave you but he doesn’t live in Washington. He lives in Texas. He lives 2,000 and some miles away. You don’t know if that’s okay with you or not. Okay, nevermind. You know it’s not okay with you. You know that just the fact that he lives far enough away that he needs to get on a fucking plane to get to your house is not okay. He needs to be closer to you. He’s yours god damn it!

Okay you walked into this relationship knowing that he would have to go home soon. You walked into this relationship knowing that he wouldn’t be yours to hold whenever the fuck you wanted to or maybe even needed to. You walked into this relationship knowing all of this and yet...

Yet you’re still not okay with it.

You’ve had time to be okay with, to get used to the idea that Dave wouldn’t be by your side whenever you needed him, let alone wanted him. It was going to be hard and you weren’t sure if you could manage without Dave by your side.

But you had him by your side for at least forty-eight more hours so you weren’t going to let that go to waste. You were going to make those hours count, whether you were kissing him or holding his hand or just being with him, you were going to make those hours count!

Tonight is going to matter. You’re going to make it matter.

After dinner, the two of you go up to your room. Dave collapses onto your bed and you take your computer chair. The two of you just sit around and talk for a while, nothing too boyfriendish and it’s really kind of nice. It’s what you were expecting Dave’s visit to be and you’re glad that even though you two kissed, you guys can still be best friends and have conversations like this.

Eventually though, your conversation dwindle and the two of you are getting sleepy (not to mention you have school tomorrow). You’re the one to suggest getting ready for bed and he agrees, getting up and stripping down to his boxers like usual. You go to the bathroom to brush your teeth and use the toilet before bed and you might as well change into your flannel pajamas while you’re there.

You go back to your room and check the fact that your alarm is set before removing your glasses and climbing into your bed beside Dave. His shades are already set to the side and you could see them, the red color, even in the dark. It was the moonlight coming in through your blinds that streaked white light over the room and especially the two of you, that made it easier to see in the darkness and even without your glasses, you could see a few inches in front of your own eyes. 

Which kind of just implies that Dave’s face is really close to yours and holy crap now he’s kissing you. Not that you mind! You really don’t. You just weren’t expecting it right then. Oh well, you lose yourself in kissing him and when his tongue slips past his lips and against yours, you don’t hesitate to part them and let him in. His tongue is warm, hot even, and slowly runs over your teeth. Soon his tongue moves and starts to mingle with your own and you don’t mind at all. Slowly, you break the kiss. You’re winded and wow that was possibly the best kiss you two had ever shared. Okay no, it was definitely the best kiss.

Dave just chuckles and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Good night, John,” he murmurs and holds you close.

“Night, Dave,” you mumble back and curl up to him.

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to change and you smile. He’s asleep. It really does amuse you how fast he can fall asleep.

You lay awake in his arms for a while, sleep slowly trying to take you, and right before it does, you whisper something.

“I love you.”

Tonight was going to matter. You were going to make it matter and damn it you did a good job making it matter.

Your alarm goes off in the morning and you grumble, sliding out of bed and out of Dave’s protective arms to turn it off. You glance back at the sleeping Dave after sliding your glasses onto your face and smile. Without you in his arms, he seems so small and curled up. Like he needs you beside him to be whole. 

Though even if that were true, he’s too “cool” to admit it.

You quickly get ready for school and head downstairs. Your father made pancakes for breakfast and you quickly eat what he puts in front of you.

“No Dave today?” he asks after a minute.

“No Dave today,” you say with a shrug and that’s all that needs to be said before your dad is driving you to school.

You quickly go to your locker as soon as you’re in the hallways and avoid eye contact with everybody. Dave must’ve made an impression yesterday because no one bothers you at all. You’re okay. No taunts or jabs. No shoves. You’re perfectly fine. 

This is probably the best day of school you’ve ever had.

You find yourself aching to get home and once the bell rings, you’re out of there. No one stops you as you rush out of the school and towards home. It’s a relief. It’s wonderful.

It’s freedom.

Dave is lounging around in the living room, watching TV when you come home. You follow your usual habit of ditching your shoes by the door and during the time it took you to remove your shoes, Dave walked over to you. You don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around him and hot damn you’re excited! It’s because of what he did that helped you out at school. People left you alone and you didn’t get a single scratch.

He nods along as you babble on and on about how good your day at school was. He doesn’t seem to mind the fact that you won’t shut up but after about ten minutes or so he seems bored of it and shuts you up with a kiss. It makes your stomach fill with butterflies and your face turn a deep red. Dave just chuckles and smirks at you. He knows he’s got you and to tell the truth, you don’t mind one bit.

Eventually you take your backpack up to your room and the two of you just sit around watching television for a while. Every once in awhile, a small argument makes itself known about actors and genres. Soon the TV gets turned off and you suggest a good old fashioned pillow fort. He’s amused and nods in agreement, it sounds like fun.

The two of you spend the next hour gathering as many pillows and blankets as you can find before you even start the blanket fort. You do have a good bit more than supplies for your fort than you had originally thought. Which is a good thing!

It doesn’t take long for your fort to start to grow and in the place of an hour it’s built. The two of you start hoarding all the junk food in the house in the fort (which is just chips, cookies, soda, and apple juice).

The two of you cuddle up to each other in the fort and just relax, enjoying each other’s company and the snacks you’ve stashed. It’s nice to be so close to someone who means so much to you, and he always has meant so much. Even before he kissed you the first time. It’ll be hard, more than hard, once he has to go.

When your dad gets home, he doesn’t make you take down the fort that you’ve been cuddling with Dave in. Instead he offers to order a pizza and let you two eat it in the fort. Both of you jump at the idea and when it comes time for dinner, there is a pepperoni pizza right in your lap. 

It doesn’t last very long.

Your dad lets the two of you spend the night in your pillow fort and he’s in bed around eleven. Shortly after he goes to bed, Dave suggest changing into pajamas (which for him is just stripping) and you start to leave the pillow fort so you can put on your usual flannel pajamas. Dave just grabs your wrist and shakes his head. 

“Come on man, just strip. You don’t need fancy pajamas to get your snooze on. I don’t.”

You think about it for a second before shrugging slightly. “Alright.”

The two of you awkwardly shrug off your clothes in the confined space and it immediately becomes obvious why this was a bad idea.

Your stomach and chest are still covered in bruises of all different shapes, sizes, and colors. It’s disgusting. You cross your arms in front of yourself, but the bruises still take up a large part of your torso. You look disgusting.

Dave frowns a little and you know he’s just looking you over, at all your bruises.

“John...” he says, just under his breath.

“I know, I’ll go pull something on,” you mumble and start to leave the pillow fort and just like before, Dave grabs your wrist and pulls you back.

“No, stay,” he murmurs and pulls you closer to him until you’re kneeling in front of him. He smiles at you a little sadly and kisses for a brief moment. “All these bruises will go away soon and once they do, you’ll be able to forget about them. You have me and that’s all that matters.”

It’s really sweet and you bite your lip for a moment. 

“Right. Of course.”

“These bruises don’t define who you are,” he continues. “They show what you’ve been through and hopefully you will heal as they do.”

You nod silently. “What about the cuts...? What happens if they scar?”

“Well, I doubt you’ll forget how you were bullied in high school and so those memories are just like the scars. Maybe you’ll forget about these days, in which case it’ll be like the cute healed completely, but if you don’t then these small scars are just like your memories.”

You nod again and take a deep breath before launching forward and wrapping your arms tightly around Dave. You know it’s lame to cry, but obviously your body doesn’t care about lame because soon you’re hiding your face in the crook of his neck to hide your tears. He wraps his arms around you and just holds you. He doesn’t say anything for a long time and neither do you. You only cry.

Soon your tears dry and you’re just holding onto him, being held by him, and it’s nice and wonderful and he’s leaving Sunday.

You pull away for a moment, just so you can look at him. His eyes are full of concern for you and you know that what you’re about to do is going to surprise the hell out of him.

You kiss him. Hard and fast. No warning.

He is surprised and even yelps a little as you continue to kiss him. You don’t want him to go. You really don’t. You want him here with you. Texas didn’t need him. Bro didn’t need him. For all you knew, he didn’t even have friends back there. Texas didn’t need him.

You did.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's gone and John has to brave school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: ANTI-GAY SLURS GUYS AND MENTIONS OF SUICIDE AND YEAH

When you and your father drop Dave off at the airport, you don’t cry. You don’t let yourself. You don’t want Dave to know how broken you are and how many pieces you will fall apart into once he leaves. He’s like some fucked up version of glue that is essential for you to stay pulled together and happy. Dave makes you happy. When he does move through security and you lose sight of him, your heart drops. He’s gone. Gone for who knows how long. 

You tear up a little and wipe at your eyes as quickly as possible. You miss him already. Your dad rests a supportive hand on your shoulder. He’s trying to show you that he’s here for you. But he’s not Dave. He’s not the boy that last night, when the two of you were curled together in bed, that gently shooshed you as you started to cry at the thought of him leaving. He’s not the boy whose arms you had fallen asleep in. But most definitely, he’s not the boy who you made out with and who stripped you down to your boxers to kiss each and every one of your slowly fading bruises.

That boy was gone. Gone for who knows how long and that hurt. He had a six hour flight ahead of him but he probably wouldn’t be home for another eight or nine. You can’t even look at the clock to try and figure out when that’d be. You’ll just end up worried and anxious. You know it.

Your father takes you home and says that he’ll order a pizza for dinner and that you can even eat it up in your room. He knows this is hard on you, though he doesn’t really know why exactly. You just go up to your room and sulk a little; it’s hard not to. You fall back onto your bed and bury your head in the pillows. They still smell a little like Dave. You smile at this and pull them to you in some sort of a hug. They’re a reminder that Dave was here and you at least got to spend time with him even if it was short. 

Eventually, you pull your phone out and see that you have one message from an hour or so ago. It’s from Dave and for some reason, your heart skips a beat. He’s bound to be on the plane already so there’s no point in replying. 

“i love you”

You gasp a little and grin. A warm feeling spreads through your chest. He said it. Through text maybe, but he said it. You can only imagine how hard it was for him to say. How hard it was to type those simple words. It had been hard enough for you to whisper it aloud to him when he was asleep, knowing he wouldn’t hear it, but Dave said it to you (text message whatever) knowing you would see it.

You giggle and can’t help but just grin at the text. It was wonderful, but then it hit you: Dave was actually gone. He was going home. Hell, he was on a plane going home right as you read this text. He’s gone.

You can’t stop yourself from crying.

You do end up texting him back though before his plane lands, a simple “i love you too.” and a soft smile warms your tear stained face. You have a boyfriend you love and who loves you back. That was enough to make your heart flutter.

Quitting with the moping, you go and get online, desperately waiting for Dave to come online. You know it’ll be hours, but that doesn’t stop you from hoping that every time pesterchum dings, it’s Dave.

He doesn’t get online that night and you stay up till four in the morning just waiting for him. He does text you telling you that he landed safe and sound. At least he gave you that. You doze off at about five am and sleep till four. Dave’s texted you multiple times trying to make sure you’re okay under his usual haze of cool kid words. 

You send him a simple text back, telling him you’re fine and that you’re glad he’s home. Though you really aren’t. You aren’t one bit happy about him being home. You want him back; back in Washington and back in your arms where he belongs. Texas is overrated.

Sighing, you huff and bury your face in the pillow; groans drift from your mouth. He’s gone. He’s not here beside you. He’s not here to protect you anymore.

Holy shit what’s going to happen when you go back to school on Monday?

You don’t want to think about it and so you just pull your pillow to your chest. Oddly enough, it stills smells of Dave. He’s kind of still here with you, but not. It’s comforting, yet heartbreaking all at once. It’s too much for you. Too many conflicting emotions.

The day passes relatively slowly. Your father seems to understand how it hurts to have him leave, though he must not know to what extent. He brings you food at noon and again at six to make sure you eat, though you don’t eat much. You just pick at it; you have no appetite, but you’re not starving yourself. You eat some of it. 

You start to absentmindedly imagining what Dave’s doing, what kind of clothes he must be wearing and what he might be eating right now. You bury your face into your pillow in shame.

Your weekend of self-loathing and loneliness slowly comes to an end and Monday comes to a start. You can’t help the way your body shakes when you get out of your bed. Dave sends you a sweet, good morning text message that you don’t bother replying to; you’ll get back to him later. School’s more important than sending a dumb text.

Your dad gets you to school earlier than usual and you’re opening up your locker when you finally decide to text Dave back. You’re halfway through a message saying good morning and that you hope he had a good flight and rest of the weekend when some jerk smacks your phone to the floor. You glare up at the familiar face of one of your regular tormentors and he sneers at you. You don’t have the energy to be strong and fight back, but you also don’t have the fear that makes you want to cower and run. You just don’t care.

The football player standing above you gapes a little, surprised at how little of a reaction you’ve given him. You just look mildly annoyed instead of terrified like you used to. You’re not sure what spurred this change, but it may have to do with the sense of security you had when Dave was with you, beating on everyone that tried to hurt you and just plain protecting you.

But when strong hands shove you back into the locker behind you, you remember that Dave’s not here to do those things for you and it breaks your heart a little at the thought. Tears immediately start falling and hands grip your shoulders tight enough to bruise. You wince in pain and feel repressed sobs rack your body as he holds you there. 

“Not so tough without your fucking boyfriend, are you, fag?” he says with a small grin on his face. You know what’s coming to you, though whether you’re going to get beaten now or later is a mystery. A mystery those meddling kids from Scooby Doo would easily have solved if they were in your shoes.

He slaps you once across the face and then leaves you alone. He’s left you with something to think about and wow does it hurt now that you’re thinking about it. Sighing, you just go to your first class and try to keep your mind on the work ahead of you and instead of on the gaping hole you feel in Dave’s absence and the stinging of your cheek.

Your classes drag on and on and for once, the teachers start coming to your aid. You got tripped when you were walking to turn in a test and instead of yelling at you like he would any old day for causing a disruption, he gets on the case of the football player who tripped because he finally saw it with his own two eyes. The football player doesn’t get in trouble seeing as it was “an accident,” but the fact that you didn’t get a stern talking to about classroom manners lifts up your mood just a little.

But then school eventually ends and to be honest, you had forgotten all about this morning’s encounter with the football jock and the hole in your chest left by Dave. You don’t forget for long though.

In your hurry to head home, you go down the stairwell in the back of the school. It’s usually empty and smells of pot and cigarettes due to it being a popular hang out for the outcasts and stoners. Scrawled messages on the walls have never been washed off or painted over. “I love Ali” is one of the few that is actually legible. Teachers rarely use this stairwell or even approach it. Rumor has it that years ago a young, female teacher was sexually assaulted in the stairwell, but no one can confirm or deny the claims. It’s just an urban legend.

Normally, you’d avoid the stairwell at all costs, but your judgement seems to desert you as you head down them.Bad idea seeing as the second you’re about five steps down, there’s footsteps and laughter behind you and cheering ahead. They seemed to have planned this. They’ve cornered you and now you’re trapped. You can’t believe you’d been so foolish! This stairwell. This fucking stairwell would be your downfall.

A moment later you were crowded in the corner of the middle landing where the stairs changed direction, surrounded by what seems to be eight or maybe nine people. Some of the faces were familiar, but most weren’t. Brad wasn’t even there to antagonize you. It was just the rest of everyone who hated you. Well, not even close to everyone but it was a lot of people to beat you up. You were used to four or five tops.

The guy who slapped you earlier pushes to the front of them all. He’s wearing his brand new varsity jacket that they must have gotten in today. Every year there were new ones and every year the football team flaunted them without a single care. 

Something of Dave must’ve been lying dormant inside of you because when he gets closer and it’s obvious he’s going to start throwing punches, you just stare at him a little dumbly and mutter, “Are you kidding me?”

He gapes at you and clenches his fists. “Listen, fag. You need to understand something. You’re nothing compared to me or any of these guys. Any of them, you hear? You’re just a low fucking faggot of a nerd. You need to get that through your fucking head. You are nothing but useless and pathetic and a god damn fag so don’t talk back.”

And with those words spilling from his mouth, he lunges forward and slaps you across the face, grabbing your hair shortly afterwards and slamming you back against the wall. One guy grabs your left hand and someone else grabs your right. Both of them pull them away from you and pin them to the wall behind you. “Like Jesus,” you think and you don’t even fight them.

A new guy presses forward and knees you in the crotch. “That’s for getting the highest score on the math test, nerd,” he spits at you as you hiss in pain.

“Maybe it’s not because he’s smart, but because he sucked the sub’s dick!” spouts someone that you can’t see. A couple of guys have taken seats on the stairs to watch the show and it’s going to be a very violent beating.

One of the guys not sitting or holding you against the wall comes up to you lands a right hook to your jaw. It hurts, but you don’t really seem to feel the pain at this point. Sure it hurt, but you weren’t inclined to fight back. You just let them hit and insult you for the better part of an hour.

You became numb to kicks to your shins and right hooks to your face, not to mention uppercuts to your stomach. By the end of the hour, you had puked three times due to precise punches to the abdomen and you’re bleeding in a few places, not to mention the bruises that are all over your body at this point.

The last words out of one of their mouths (does it really matter which one’s?) before they leave you there in the stairwell are “God, you’re such an ugly fag. Why don’t you just fucking die?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS TOOK SO LONG I HATE EVERYTHING.
> 
> But I got it finished enjoy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave, John, and Dad have thoughts on the current situation.
> 
> TW: self-harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the chapter I wanted it to be, but I'm still glad it came out this way! It should have been longer but.... It's not whoops.

Your name is Dave Strider and your newfound, long-distance boyfriend hasn’t texted you back in a while.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t worried about him.

The last text you received was him sending you a reply to your ironic, yet cute as fuck, good morning text from a few days ago. It was worrying.

Scenarios start to run through your head. What if the bullying is better and he doesn’t need you anymore? What if the bullying is worse and his phone got broken? What if he gave up? What if he’s in the hospital?

Everyday you send him a text. Sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon as a pick me up for you and him. You always text him and once in a blue moon, he replies.

Soon you’re suffering from anxiety attacks when he doesn’t text you back. It’s stupid, you know that, but your anxiety, depression, and paranoia could care less.

Stress and worry start to build up and soon it’s a chore to get out of bed. To eat. To survive. But you do. You get out of bed, eat, and slice your skin a little everyday. You need to do those three things to stay alive. You don’t want to die; you can’t die. John may need you. You just need to release the stress, pain, anxiety, and sadness with a slice of your skin. With blood pouring down your arm. WIth tears falling from your eyes. With scabs and scars left behind. You don’t know what else you could do other than hurt yourself more to release your problems. There are burn marks up and down your arms and legs from a lighter. There are welts on your arms where you’ve bitten yourself to stop yourself from screaming out in pain and anguish. There are bruises on your hips, stomach, and chest where you’ve hit yourself hard enough to mark it. Soon you’re going to be a giant walking scar.

Bro doesn’t notice your body of pain, scabs, sears, and scars. You’ve become more self-conscious than ever because of it and you’re losing weight. Dangerous amounts. You’re just not hungry anymore. When you went to visit John you weighed 115 pounds easy, but now you’re struggling to remain above 90.

Everything’s spiralling downwards and you can’t even get a hold of John to break it off and save yourself. Even if you could though, you wouldn’t because god damn it, you love him. You’ve always loved him. You don’t want there to be a chance for him to see how weak you are and leave. You don’t want him to be ashamed of his relationship with you. You don’t want him to be scared. You want him to be with you. You want him to see you after you’ve risen above this and be strong for him. You want him to be happy that you’re his boyfriend. You want to be the perfect boyfriend.

But can you really be the perfect boyfriend with your arms littered with scars and your heart littered with holes?

\-----------------------------

Your name is John Egbert and your body hurts more than it ever has in the past.

Everything just plain hurts. You don’t want to move. You don’t want to breathe. You don’t want to live. Your phone is dead; your computer has been off for at least a week. You’re disconnected from everybody who cares about you. Then again, does anyone actually care?

People are your enemies. Everyone. You hate them; they hate you. No one would care if you fell off the face of the Earth. Well, maybe a few people would like Dave and your internet friends, but you hadn’t talked to them in a long time. They probably forgot about you already. Maybe some of those football playing jerks would miss their human punching bag. They already say they miss you when you don’t go to school for days at a time. Your dad doesn’t know about that though since you’re a pro at forging his signature and ditching school.

Maybe that’s all you’re good for, a punching bag, because you have no other worth in anything else. Your grades are slipping, people are just hating you more and more, and everything just seems to be coated with a haze of black. Everything is coated with it. Every little tiny thing, every experience, anything and everything that used to hold some joy for you, doesn't anymore. Everything was dull and hurt.

Sometimes even your memories of Dave start to hurt. Doesn't really matter though, you're sure that Dave hates you now. You never text, you never call, and you never bother to log on to pesterchum. You don't talk to him and you know that's got to hurt him. Though maybe it doesn't hurt him because maybe he's gotten over you. Maybe he's come to realize that you're not worth it. That you aren't worth it. That you never were.

Dave's better off without you. That's always been the case. You never deserved somebody as wonderful and caring as Dave, even if he didn't like to show it. He's always been there for you and sometimes you forget that; you forget that he's been your best friend for years, that you guys sent each other birthday and Christmas presents for years, that you two have told each other your deepest darkest secrets. You can't believe you ever forgot how amazing Dave was, is.

How did you ever score Dave as your boyfriend? How did you ever manage to have such a perfect boy be there for you the way he was? How did that ever happen? Maybe it was your charming good looks, before the weight loss and the dark bags under your eyes. Maybe it was your sense of humor, before everything just became so miserable. Maybe it was just the idea that he could be with you for a short while, kiss you, and then leave that made this relationship so appealing to him. Maybe it was just the idea of being with someone broken.

Doesn't matter how Dave became your boyfriend because he is. Or at least was. Whether or not he still thinks you two are together is unknown and you're not sure which one you prefer. You want to be with him, but you don't want to hurt him. Or rather you don't want him to feel trapped with you because in all honesty you know you're not worth it; you know you're not worth a second of his time. Dave's attractive, intelligent, compassionate, and better than anything you deserve. He tries to hide it all, but it's there, just under the surface. He has emotions, even if their hidden. Hidden like old art and hieroglyphs in old temples and pyramids. He's complex, but once you know the language, he's simple. As simple as that, you love him.

\-----------------------------

Your given name doesn’t matter because for the past 16 years you have been called Dad and your son is becoming worrisome. 

He’s barely eating from what you can see and the dark bags under his eyes are probably due to sleepless nights. He’s going through something and as much as you want to confront him about how much food is going to waste, his grades and absences (the school has been calling you non-stop), and just how broken he looks. But he’s a teenager and maybe the last thing he wants is some stupid adult who doesn’t get it to press him to tell him what’s wrong. You’re worried about him, but you’re even more worried about what will happen if you push him. 

Though some parenting websites say that’s what he needs: a gentle push in the right direction to get him started on the road of recovery. Others contrast this opinion: the teen needs space and if they need serious help, they’ll come to you or you’ll know.

Either way, it’s a confusing maze of “Is it bad enough to get him help? How about now? Or now?”

You’ve been trying to figure out why John is so upset and out of it. The websites suggest a break up or maybe bullying. Both of which are doubtful. John’s never dated anyone in the first place and if he had, he would have told you! Plus, John used to be a model student, there is no way that he could have been bullied. No way at all! Your son, your John, would have told you. He really would have. You know he would have. No one knows John better than you except for maybe his friend that came and visited not too long ago. Dave. The kid from Texas.

You still had his brother’s phone number... Maybe... Maybe giving him a call so you could figure out what’s going on with your son would be beneficial, but it could still hurt John. His trust in you could be breached! That’s not what you want. You want to make sure he still trusts you and knows he can come to you without being judged and without fear of punishment.

You scrap the idea and sigh, settling into your armchair in the living room and turning on the television to the news. They’re doing a report about a local kid committing suicide and you don’t pause while lighting your pipe. You watch the eleven o’clock news until midnight when your pipe is eventually through burning the tobacco in it. Your nightly glass of scotch is empty and it’s bed time.

You’ll try to figure out what to do with John tomorrow after you’ve slept on it. As part of your nightly routine, you put everything in it’s proper place, the pipe in your study, the glass in the dishwasher, and the remote next to the turned off TV, before heading upstairs and to bed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bro and Dad talk and Dave and John have breakdowns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few references to self harm in this chapter I believe, not to mention some homophobia.

Your name is Dave Strider and something has to be wrong. 

Bro’s on the phone. You don’t know who he’s talking to, but he looks... worried, maybe? Was that concern?

He glances at you and beckons you closer with a curl of his finger. _Shit, shit, shit._

He doesn’t say anything to you right away and oh god he’s making you anxious. The dreaded feeling was bubbling through your veins, settling at the bottom of your stomach, causing it to churn uncomfortably. You’re holding yourself; hands gripping your upper arms tightly, possibly leaving marks.

After a brief series of nods, his gaze turns to you.

“Was John bullied?”

“What?” The question catches you off guard.

Bro huffs in annoyance. “John, the kid you ditched that really awesome puppet conven-”

“I know who John is,” you snap, aggression causing an edge in your voice.

“Yeah okay. Was he bullied?”

You hesitate to answer before it kind of clicks. Bro must be taking to Mr. Egbert. Mr. Egbert must be worried about John. 

Something must be wrong.

This was your chance to help out, maybe get a message across to John. Break it off. But you don’t know how to say that without sounding like an asshole to his dad or even letting it slip that you and John were dating.

“Uh, yeah. THere was a group of football playing dickwads that would beat him up and call him things like fag and shit,” you spill, not even realizing that you must be totally betraying John and his trust right now. That you just indirectly told his dad one of his deepest secrets. One that only you knew, really.

Bro relays this information, resting a hand on your shoulder so you don’t leave. He wants more information and you just want to curl up and die. The scabs on your arms are starting to ache a little.

He nods and talks very little until he asks you the next question.

“Did John go through a break up?”

“No,” you answer defensively. What kind of bullshit did his dad want to know?

Bro cocks an eyebrow. God damn it, he knows you’re hiding something.

“Was he dating anyone?”

You don’t answer.

“Dave.”

You’re biting your lip to stay quiet. Your inability to eat much as made you light headed and quick to react, more irritable. 

“Dave, I need an answer.”

“Fine! Okay! He and I were dating! Are dating! I kissed him! Held him! Made him feel safe! And, and he ignored me once I left! He fell apart and left me to fall apart with worry!”

Tears are falling down your face and your brother is more than a little surprised at the outburst and amount of sheer emotion coming from you. You blame the very little food going into your system these days and the wreck John has turned you into. 

Bro quietly relates the information to the older Egbert as you feel as if you’re falling apart at the seams. You just ripped your heart out of this cage that had been getting progressively smaller and smaller since you’d been home. You had held it, your most private of privacies, in your hands before squeezing it tight and crushing it.

Bro seems to understand the gravity of the situation and after he finishes telling Daddy Egbert the basics of what you said, he hugs you with one arm. That’s pretty affectionate for a Strider. He’s still talking to John’s dad, but he’s also comforting you. He cares.

\---

Your name has been Dad for years now and so it will continue.

You eventually gave in and called the older of the Strider brothers. Bro couldn’t give you any answers, but you started to get them after a “Oh, Dave’s here. I’ll ask him.”

So after a brief Q&A between Bro and Dave that you only hear Bro’s muffled side of, you learn that John’s been getting bullied, he’s been getting beaten up, he’s been getting up by football players who you bought cookie dough or something for fundraisers, he’s been being called unspeakable things, and he’s been dating Dave.

You’re... not sure... how that makes you feel.

You don’t think gay people are gross or fundamentally wrong or against the bible or something ridiculous like that, just... Unnatural. You raised your son right, didn’t you? He shouldn’t be gay!

That’s not the most important thing you learned today though. You need to focus on John and his bullying, not John and the potential for tons of unprotected anal sex he could be having. Dave’s not around at the moment, though, so maybe you’re safe. Your son doesn’t have aids. 

Okay, John’s bullying. Maybe you could homeschool him? Or get him to do online schooling because you work.

You straighten up your tie and adjust the cuffs of your sleeves. You came home early because you got another call from the school about John’s absences and the extra time allowed you to prepare a broil of sorts for dinner.

You have to talk to him, not distract yourself with cooking.

Heading upstairs, you think of what you’ll have to say, what to confront. Should you mention the gay thing? All of what Bro told you is swimming through your head.

Questions come up too. Why didn’t he tell you he was getting bullied? Why didn’t you notice? How did he even end up gay after all of your superb parenting? Not enough love? Too much? Did you set the timer on the stove right?

How do you talk to John about this?

You gently rap on the door with your knuckles. Not a single sound comes from his bedroom. It’s been ages since you saw it, now that you think of it. His room and the state of it have been just as elusive as he has.

“John?” you call out, knocking again.

Not a peep.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

No response.

You crack the door open with careful ease, just in case he’s leaning against it or something, and peer inside. You’re slow as you enter the room, tiptoeing on the clothes littered by the door.

It’s a mess to say the least, and it takes you a minute to spot John leaning against the wall by the window, near a pile of clothes. He’s wearing clothes that you could have sworn fit him when they were new, but now they seemed baggy and much too big for him. He almost looks dead, like a skeleton.

You step over to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. His eyes fly open and he gasps in what can only be pain. You immediately pull the hand away and kneel so you’re down to his level.

Eye contact, you can hear the parenting books and websites reminding you.

John’s not making that very easy for you; his eyes falling shut again. Was he always this thin? This pale? This sickly?

“John,” you say, worry fighting its way into your voice.

His eyes flutter open. “Mm... What?” he mumbles.

“Are you alright, John?”

“Just tired...”

You watch him as he shifts ever so slightly and winces.

“Why aren’t you laying in bed?” you ask gently.

“Hurts,” he mumbles and lets his head fall to the side ever so slightly. He looks tired of just holding it up.

You’re very careful about how you approach this. He doesn’t know you know that he gets bullied. Or the Dave thing. He doesn’t know you know that either.

“Well, I learned a couple of things today,” you start. “The school keeps calling about your absences and so I called up Bro Strider...”

He shifts, sitting up straighter. He’s rigid now. You’ve got his attention and you can practically feel the panic welling up in him. 

“Are you being bullied, John?” You try to keep your voice as gentle as possible, keeping eye contact. You need to get it across to him that this is important. That this is something you need to know to stay a good father.

John tries to get up, his hands shoving hard at the ground and you are ashamed that you never noticed this before. Never noticed his weakness or pain. He grips at the windowsill and tries to pull himself up. It’s a feat and utterly amazing that he’s standing. 

He doesn’t answer the question.

“John,” you say, moving to follow him. He’s not going to get off that easy. 

“Fine!” he snaps, inching his way to his bed. You can see the shadow of your loving son in front of you, but this boy here, this teenager, isn’t him. He’s changed. “I’m bullied! I’m beaten up because I’m fucking pathetic! I’m scared to go to school. I’m scared to sleep. I’m scared to live.”

You’re taken aback by his anger and sadness.

And he cursed at you. He used to have so much respect for you and now... Now he was falling apart.

You watch as he sits down on the edge of his bed. It’s like he’s forgotten you exist completely. His arms hold his middle and his sweatshirt is almost falling off his bony shoulder, revealing a large bruise. That’s why he flinched when you touched him. He was in pain.

You don’t say anything as he eventually peers up at you and then back to the floor. You sit down in his computer chair that has been long forgotten and the two of you sit in silence.

“It started freshman year,” he eventually offers and you nod a little listening. “Got caught up after school and ran into a group of football players after practice. They just got mad and it’s been happening ever since.”

Freshman year. He’s been getting hurt since freshman year. You’re stunned. He’s been hiding this since freshman year.

You didn’t notice until now.

He groans a little as he shifts his position on his bed. He’s in pain. All over pain and you can’t fix it. You can’t help. You can barely watch.

It’s one thing to watch your son go through hard times, it’s another when his hard times seem to be draining the very life out of him.

You’re scared to go over to him and hold him in your arms, to show him love. You’re scared you’ll touch bruises he doesn’t want you to know about and just hurt him more.

He’s your son and you can’t even hug him.

He sits silently on his bed for a short while and you just look at him. You want him to take off his sweatshirt so you can see how stick thin he really is. You want to see how many bruises do cover up his body. You just want to know how severe this all is.

Eventually, you speak up again and he jumps, like you just woke him up or something. 

“When Dave was here and you went to the hospital,” you quietly bring up. “Was that a bullying thing?”

He stares at his feet and eventually gives you a little nod. “Yeah... Got cornered in the bathroom and they hit me.... Next thing I knew I was in the hospital. The doctor asked me a couple questions about it... Like if it was you or Dave because he was there at the time, but I didn’t say anything to him other than it wasn’t you two...”

You nod slowly to yourself. His doctor had noticed something was wrong and yet, you still hadn’t known.

You’re failing as a father. Failing at keeping your son safe and protected. Absolutely failing at being there for him.

No wonder he’s gay.

You’ve really dropped the ball.

You stay sitting in his computer chair, watching him as he slowly shifts to lay down. He curls up and doesn’t even pull a blanket over himself. He winces a little, but other than that, he seems as at peace as he has been all day. 

You can hear a slight change in his jagged breathing as he falls asleep and you take a moment to step over to the side of his bed, pressing a kiss into his once soft hair. It’s oily and no longer holds the bounce you remember. He should probably shower, but in his position, you wouldn’t be able to find the will to do all that work to smell, feel, and look nice either. 

You carefully pull his glasses off his face and set them to the side. You don’t want them getting bent or falling to the floor. You gently run a thumb across his cheek and you aren’t too surprised when it comes back wet. Your son had been crying.

Before you have too much time to think about that, the oven timer starts to go off downstairs and with each step out of the room, your own cheeks start to get stained with tears as well. As you shut the door, you speak even though he’s asleep and can’t hear you. 

“I love you, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gomen everyone for taking so long to post this!! on tumblr, i am roguechucklefucks so you can come to me with any questions you may have and if you post anything about this fanfic on tumblr, i use the tag "tiyb" so you can go ahead and use it to.


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